Dead Life
by RapiDe
Summary: Life and death, which comes first in Racoon City? An O:FS tiein.
1. Chapter 1

Legal disclaimers: I don't own or lay claim to "Resident Evil" in any way, shape or form since its owned by people who earn far more money than me. In any case, the owners created the world in which I dabble, so thanks go to them for creating the concept in the first place then going on to develop it. If they happen to read this, keep up the good work. The only things I do claim as my own from this two-part story are original characters and ideas. On that note, Amber Bernstein is being borrowed from Hyperactive Hamster of Doom so everyone knows, nor do I own Kevin Ryman.

Disclaimers: This story is a sequel to my earlier story, "Lost Souls", focusing on the character of Serena Baccarin again. Yes, this does again make it connected to Matt6's story "Operation: Falling S.T.A.R.S.", but the story stands alone, it simply leads into O: FS. References to the RE:1 and RE:0 games will be made, as well as references to the first RE film. Apart from that, a Y stands for a page break.

**Sentences**

/July 24th 1998, North Korea, near the Chinese border/

The camp was referred to as a "Re-education Facility" officially. It was almost as entertaining in its attempts to avoid accepting its nature as Stalin's Gulags had been, if one wanted to play historian. They were never called Death Camps either, just "prisons", which could really mean anything.

Nine foot high steel and wire fences, topped by barbed wire, a second set of fences beyond that of the same design between which guards with automatic weapons and dogs patrolled, all of the time, surrounding an area almost half a mile square, that was the camp. Four Watchtowers, one at each corner of the square structure, contained two guards each, one armed with a high-power Snipers rifle, the other being there to man the searchlight and sound the alarm, a piercing wail that could have been heard in Pyongyang. The buildings inside the fence were simple, two large barracks areas for the prisoners to sleep in, a warehouse structure for them to labour in when they couldn't work outside, showers and two toilet areas. Apart from that, only a small, solitary almost metal room-size structure stood off to the far end of the camp to the guards barracks, approached by none of the inmates. No distinction was made between men and women. The Commanders quarters were in a fenced-off area at the north end of the camp, a small but secure structure designed like a white brick house crossed with a stone fortress, small windows and steel-barred door giving way to warm, pleasant inside where electricity and warmth were constantly provided by a generator.

The generator was secured behind the guard's barracks, a larger structure designed to hold twenty men in Spartan comfort but secure warmth and safety. Two doors opened in and out but the guard's weapons locker and ammunition were all secured inside, within a steel vault for security only ranking officers and the camp Commander had keys for. The area containing the commander's home and guards barracks was secured from the rest of the camp the way the camp itself was secured against escape.

Nobody had ever dared try to test it after the one known victim of the guards who had, a young man of some agility who had believed he could be quick and quiet enough. They'd broken every bone in his body, gouged out an eye, beaten him to a half-alive bloody pulp then disembowelled him and let the dogs eat what was left. The story was still passed around the camp as a story that could not be forgotten. This place wasn't a step up from Hell, it was said, in fact it was what happened to you there while you were still alive. Nobody knew about the camp who could or would do anything about it, the people who could have done something considered it an eyesore, a political embarrassment they didn't want to know about, so they ignored it and let sleeping dogs lie, caring nothing for any suffering or death which occurred within high walls. Anyone asked who knew it always replied "There's a time and a place".

A guard barracks containing fifty soldiers stood half a mile outside of the fences, a larger, solid structure where heavier weapons were stored, along with the communications gear, a second, larger generator powering the whole set-up. Nearby a garage contained a small flatbed truck, an expensive car that was so clearly out of place it could only belong to the Camp Commander and a Snowplough, a heavy truck with a huge blade mounted on the front end.

The lone road in and out, little more than a rutted worn dirt track leading off into the mountains which disappeared into trees not long after it got away from the camp, was in use now by two rattling old trucks, the engines of which were clearly in danger of seizing in the extreme low temperatures as flakes of snow fell despite the season. The area was always frozen and cold, hidden away high in the mountains as it was, just as it was always covered with at least three inches of snow. The road melted and refroze in dangerous shapes and patterns almost constantly, making the long journey from the Military base miles away an extreme hazard, especially when passing through high mountain roads, but the weekly supply runs had to be made.

Most of the goods carried were luxuries like good food and drink, warm clothes and even Mail, all for the guards since the prisoners had and were allowed nothing, including privacy and even the ability to speak-more than one inmate had had a tongue torn out with pliers to make a point-but very basic iron rations which would keep the inmates going for days and even weeks on starvation rations were always included. Tools were always available at the base, the inmates had to cover and warm themselves as best they could however they could.

Murder, Theft, Blackmail, Extortion, Torture and Rape were commonplace, even encouraged, while Cannibalism and the literal wearing of severed parts of dead bodies was not unknown. The camp was a place where humanity died kicking and screaming at the gate as it was stripped of everything valuable before being eaten alive for a few more days life, civilisation was a distorted misjudgement of the imagination. One did what one had to to survive, a fact which anyone who lived through a week learnt or finally died from.

What some of the inmates had never worked out, what some wished they didn't know, was that the truck drivers actually looked forwards to the trip, even drew lots to see who got to go, as well as the guards who rode alongside them in the trucks cab. The reason was very simple: the inmates of the camp would do anything at all for even the slightest favour, even kill, or worse. Things the guards and truck men had gotten the inmates to do for rotten scraps of food were nightmares of pain and ferocity, lost innocence and inferno-lit flashes of things that made strong men and women claw out their own eyes and cut their own throats to escape from them. Even just so they could do no more than avoid thinking about them as their life bled out, no more than a distraction.

The guards in the cordoned-off area of the camp formed up around the camp Commander, an overweight middle-aged man with thinning black hair and a moustache, all of them dressed in the uniform of the North Korean Army, then they marched out into the main area of the camp, the last guard securing the gate behind them as the trucks approached. The guards from the main barracks outside the fences formed up loosely and created a firing line generally pointed at the camp as all of the inmates, stirred from exhausted, terrified near slumber by the sound of a vehicles engines, staggered outside and looked towards the main gate even as the interior guards approached it.

Every one of the inmates was clad in rotting rags at best, some the tattered remnants of uniforms, most just the remnants of whatever inappropriate clothing they had had the misfortune to be wearing when brought to this place. From very young to very old, massively bearded vacant-eyed old men to children so young they didn't even understand what was going on, let alone why, every one had cuts, bruises and contusions everywhere.

The guards regularly took any attractive women to their barracks and took turns, sometimes they took men and practiced the best ways to cause pain without causing either death or insanity. Screams and animal howls had been known to last for days before the bloody, barely-alive remnants of a human being was finally tossed back into the inmates prison. The normal reaction was to strip it of anything valuable, leave it to freeze to death then toss it to the guards to get rid of. Everybody knew they simply stored the dead under a blanket until the nearby lake defrosted enough for the bodies to be dumped there, then just waited for the next batch. It wasn't the most efficient disposal method, but the bored guards couldn't be bothered to create a better way and had been known to attach severed frozen body parts to the fence to encourage the inmates to realise they'd end up the same way some day, so why not kill themselves now and get it over with?

The rule of the camp was that nobody struggled because everyone died, there was simply no arguing with this. The one person who had was in the metal room, locked away from everything and everyone because of it, for the past three weeks excepting food and water tossed through the slot in the side of the building. The room wasn't insulated or warmed at all and the temperature always fell to well below freezing at night.

To most people just being put into what amounted to a steel box under the conditions apparent would have been enough to kill them in a night, even without borderline starvation and threats to their physical being that would have killed strong men through sheer fright. The woman in the room had survived for weeks, exercising regularly, saying nothing, reacting to none of the taunts, threats and bribes tossed at her by the guards and even the camp Commander.

Unlike most, though, she wasn't a prisoner of conscience, an individual sent to the camp for daring to criticise the Great Leader or some decision of his, no matter how bizarre or mad. She had been sent to the camp for killing, with her bare hands, in public, a high-order Political functionary of the party who had stated his belief that Western women existed only to serve men, on their backs, after which he'd ordered his Bodyguard to restrain her. She'd knocked the bodyguard unconscious with a heavy paperweight, then beaten the functionaries head against the side of a desk until his skull had cracked and his brains had fallen out. Her Fate had been decided the moment the act had occurred.

Four soldiers marched over to the box at an order from the Commander, three of them standing back and away from the box with AK-47 automatic rifles off the shoulders, aimed and ready. After all, or so the reasoning went, there was _no_ telling what any human being incarcerated in the box for as long as she had been would do once the door was opened, so they were taking no chances.

The fact that the woman inside had proved impossible to physically subdue in the week before she'd been placed in the box, the fact that she'd woken up to find a guard who had believed her drugged and insensible trying to Rape her and used her teeth on his throat like an animal, almost tearing out his windpipe, was the rest of the reasoning for the excessive force being employed. Whatever else the woman was, she was a killer who'd use any means, no matter how savage or awful, to survive. That the guards had learnt early on.

The box was opened by the guard, who held out a pair of handcuffs and a handgun. Without complaint, the woman inside let him shackle her wrists in front of her. Then the guard produced a small, woven brown sack, just big enough to cover the head, which he firmly placed over the woman's head, again without complaint. All of that done, she was dragged to her feet and pulled out of the box. It was the first time anybody had actually seen her since she had been put in the box.

An inch shy of six feet tall, she was unusually tall even for a Caucasian woman, or so all of the Korean prisoners thought. A tattered pale blue shirt and torn dark-blue jeans did little to conceal an Amazonian physique, hard muscle rippling across her body, up and down her arms and legs as she moved, while lush curves and silken skin were amply evident underneath the tattered remnants of her clothes.

Traces of smooth jet-black hair fell to her shoulders, rather than to her waist where it had reached when she had been brought to the camp, crudely hacked away with a knife. Her skin was a well-tanned tawny, light mahogany with traces of darker, a luxurious mixture of her North American Caucasian father and South American Indian mother. The hood concealed sapphire blue eyes so intense they could cut and a flawless, fine-featured face of such perfection it was almost an art.

To call her breathtaking was an understatement, from the moment she'd been delivered to the camp the guards and Commander had looked at none of the other women at all and ignored pleas, offers and bargains from everyone. The camp was theirs, so was everything in it-but her, as it turned out. Even the box hadn't broken her, so now she was to see, in the mornings dull light as it was obscured by white clouds threatening snow, the food and goods she was to be denied. She would be used and abused as the Commander saw fit until either her will, her mind or her body broke, the Commander didn't care which came first. Regardless, she _would_ obey.

She was dragged over to the main gate, although she really walked herself with the exception of the occasional yank on her handcuffs by the guard leading her, stepping over snow-covered muddy ground frozen almost solid with a animals easy grace. The fact that she showed little sign of discomfort wasn't noticed by any of the guards, nor was the strange smile hidden by the sack over her head. Once the gate was opened, she was dragged over to where the Commander and his Bodyguard stood.

Immediately afterwards more soldiers dragged over a middle-aged Korean man with black hair showing traces of grey and dead brown eyes in a haggard, terribly lined face which let anyone know he had seen and experienced far too much a long, long time ago. Once a brilliant Scientist and Lecturer concerning History and Politics in the Universities of North Korea, he had made the mistake of joking that the Great Leader's attempt to emulate Stalin in his repression of free market economic growth rather than following the Chinese model had put the north twenty years behind where it should have been. The local Communist Party officials hadn't found it funny, so they had sent the Scientist, his Wife and child daughter to the camp to teach them that.

His Wife had been raped to death while he had been forced to watch, to teach him the truth of the camp. His daughter had been found dead one day, frozen solid, chopped up like so much firewood and tossed into a pit for later disposal. In five years at the camp he had suffered every indignity possible for the human mind and body. He had been used as a punching bag so often that the bones had healed crooked and he coughed up blood when he breathed as often as not, lost both thumbs after a bet between two guards and been tortured with such regularity that he'd almost come to accept the pain as a necessity. He had learnt that his entire family believed him dead and all of his friends had failed to ask any questions at all. All he had left was his will to survive and, ultimately, the fact the camp Commander still occasionally found uses for him so kept him alive. In time, he knew for certain in a place colder and darker than the worst of the camp at the worst of times, they would simply kill him and serve up his remains as fresh meat for the other inmates. He didn't care. If he could die with even one guard dead by his hands, he would laugh all the way to Hell, no matter when or where it was.

The camp Commander made a gesture and the sack was pulled off of the woman's head, tossing her hair up and around her face, displaying cracked lips and traces of blood around her mouth. None of it was hers, she'd never bothered to wash off the after-effects of nearly tearing the wounded guards throat out. She actually quite appreciated the flavour, it had a unique tang to it she'd decided.

Her name was Serena Baccarin and, despite everything, she was actually starting to enjoy herself. After the first week she'd been locked away from everyone and everything, which actually suited her since she'd never been a people person. She'd had time to fine-tune her plan, consider every contingency and even add an anticipated bonus into her strategy.

Wolf-sharp ears had told her of the approach of the trucks long before the others had seen them, even inside the box, the distraction was all she would need. Once she got out of the camp, this would count as a paid Vacation to her, with the chance to actually help some people thrown in. Not bad for a professional Assassin with only one purpose in coming to the camp to begin with.

"I am Lin Pu Ma. I am to translate for you, do you understand?" asked the middle-aged dead-looking Korean man, in good English with an accent which spoke of Britain to her educated ears.

"I understand, go on" she replied, nodding her head. Yes, she was _definitely_ going to enjoy this.

"The Commander says that since you are a Western woman, you may not understand this. But I think you will. He says that, as a woman, your place is in the home, under your husband, doing a Wife's duty. Your place is in your own land, this fabled USA of yours, where there is no respect given to men by women and you are allowed to act for yourselves because your men have no will of their own" said Lin Pu Ma, before pausing for a moment, then continuing.

"He says that you are going to die here, it is important that you know this. You should know this because before you die, you will learn the true meaning of discipline and obedience. You will sate and satisfy him once he has taught you, a thing he has all the time he needs to teach. He says that you will go back in the box once you have seen what is coming here, because you will have no part of it and it is important you know that. He will come to see you later, to make sure you understand. Do you have anything to say?" continued Lin Pu Ma, stopping to look straight at her as he translated the torrent of Korean coming from the camp Commander. Serena's face was a mask as she looked straight back at him, then she turned and looked directly at the camp Commander.

"Ask him this for me. Does he know the name Barbara Hershey?" asked Serena, clearly and distinctly since she suspected the Commander would recognise the name even though he couldn't understand what she was saying.

The Commander threw back his head and burst out laughing, shaking his head like he was trying to throw all of his hair clear of his head. His answer was quick and loud, punctuated by guffaws and a grin that made Serena want to extract each of his teeth one after the other before he died as he looked at her in total scorn.

"He says...he says that you are an idiot. He says this Barbara Hershey was brought here three months ago and was even worse than you are for discipline. He says that she fought them until they broke her, after that she did what she was told. That was six weeks ago, she died soon after that. He says that if you are looking for a friend here, you are worse than a fool" translated Lin Pu Ma, his expression not changing at all. He'd lost more than any human could stand long ago, pain and suffering were no longer things which meant anything to him. He almost remembered that those not like him were hurt by such things, though, occasionally.

"I see. Tell him this: I came here to find her, but since I'm too late I've found him instead" said Serena, with a strange shrug that even the guards noticed. Her body seemed to settle strangely as she moved, as though she was preparing herself for something...

Before anyone could react, Serena leapt to her feet and charged the camp Commander. He froze in shock for too long to do anything about it, seconds later it was too late. Serena rammed her steel handcuffs chain into his throat as deep and hard as she could, meaning that she hit him hard enough to drive the chain through skin and flesh on into the muscle of his throat. The assault severed the Commanders windpipe as well as crushing his throat, blood almost instantly drenching the front of his uniform even as he gagged and choked, hands grasping futilely at the wound.

The fastest of the bodyguards got his AK-47 off of his shoulder and almost had time to aim, but Serena was even quicker and snatched the Commanders pistol from its holster, thumbing off the safety even as she turned. Four quick headshots dropped every bodyguard almost faster than the eye could follow before a roundhouse kick threw the choking Commander from his feet as a precaution.

Shocked camp guards went for their weapons even as they tried to take in the fact that five of theirs had been killed by one woman inside of a minute, ready to fire into the milling, stunned crowd of inmates as necessary, when Serena played her Trump card. She bit down hard on the cap of a false tooth-and the outside barracks exploded with a deafening roar of bright light and massive force that span people from their feet or drove them staggering away, the closest simply being picked up and tossed through the air like rag dolls. A second later the tower tops caught fire, men jumping from the nests screaming as they burned, only to land with the awful cracking, echoing sound of breaking bone...

Almost all of the outside barracks soldiers were killed or crippled in the explosion as the blast threw them to the ground, against the fence and even over the fence into the camp proper, where they lay smoking and in pain, helpless and better than half dead. Only scattered survivors slowly staggered to their feet, deaf and numb to everything in a state of utter shock.

Inside the camp things were little better, weak and disorientated inmates collapsing and being thrown left and right by the very edge of the blast, as surprised by it as the guards had been. The force was reduced enough that the strongest stayed on their feet, however, so the guards and Serena were among very few left upright. That suited her, since it gave her a pretty much free field of fire.

Popping her thumbs out of joint, she expertly slipped the cuffs before putting the digits back in place and grabbing an AK-47. Only a single shout of alarm reached her as she aimed, so she carefully shot the alert one first, then opened fire in controlled, precisely aimed three-round bursts. She'd have preferred the American M-18 or a Special Forces weapon, anything from an Uzi up would have been fine, but one worked with what one had.

She dropped the twelve standing guards with head and heart shots before anyone even realised what she was actually doing. All of ten seconds passed before the remaining guards finally registered what had happened, took in the burning towers, the destroyed outside barracks and the dead bodies everywhere, then quickly tossed away their weapons and raised their hands in surrender where able.

Serena placed the butt of her AK-47 on her hip and raised an eyebrow, surveying her handiwork. She was sure that it was good and necessary, she also saw that the guards learned fast. She turned to look at Lin Pu Ma again, the man still standing around doing nothing at all as though the carnage all about him was just something he saw every day, his face totally vacant of expression. He reminded her of herself.

"Lin, tell them this. I am not Military, their lives mean nothing at all to me, I can and will kill all of them should I see any reason to. I've done what I came here to do, though, so I'll be leaving now. Good luck, to you that is" said Serena, before handing him the AK-47 and striding past the inmates over towards the open gates, where the newly arrived trucks still sat idling.

"Wait...why did you do this? Who _are_ you?" Lin called after her, causing her to pause a moment. She turned to face him, sighed, then ran a hand through her shorn hair.

"Barbara Hershey was a Diplomat, yes, but her father works for a different part of the Government. The man I killed to get here was the same man who got her sent here, for the same reasons. Nobody told him "No". As for the rest? You need better locks, all I needed after I got out of the box was access to the munitions in the outer barracks and a jury-rigged radio detonator" she replied, before a bitter smile twisted her lips.

"Who am I? Just call me Reaper, everyone else does at some point" Serena finished, before she turned again and walked out of the camp into the wilderness, never to return. She didn't need to say anything else, she knew Lin would never talk about what had happened, or who had done it, with anyone. There was only one thing left in him that mattered any longer.

Lin looked down at the guards who were starting to stir with Serena leaving, then he looked at the gun in his hands. He'd never used a gun before in his life, but he'd seen the woman use one and it hadn't looked hard. He pointed the gun at the nearest guard and pulled the trigger, a stream of lethal steel-jacketed lead punching a dozen holes in the guard's chest. The guard was dead before he slumped back to the floor, a pool of his blood slowly gathering around him.

Lin didn't care even when he noticed the other inmates pick up the dead guards weapons and start fumbling around with them, the guards who still had their wits about them turning to run in suicidal desperation as Lin shot a second guard who was trying to scramble to his feet in the back. His gun clicked on empty, he didn't know how to reload it, but he did know how to use a club. The third guard he killed, even as cracks of gunfire started to echo all around him, made an odd wet cough as he collapsed after Lin shattered his skull with a massive overhead strike...

/August 1st 1998, Racoon City, the USA/

**RACOON CITY TIMES _01/08/98_**  
__

_The S.T.A.R.S. have gone mad!_  
**"COLLECTIVE PSYCHOSIS"**

-Dr. H. Hammond, PHD, Psychologist for Umbrella Corporation, Human Resources

**"POST TRAUMATIC STRESS DISORDER"**

-Chief of Police Brian Irons, RCPD

**"DRUG ABUSE"**

-Bill Duke, Racoon City Council worker

"**PEOPLE CALL _ME_ CRAZY?"**

-Lonny Lopez, Vietnam Veteran, VA member and PTSD victim

By Jane Whirry, your RCT Reporter 

_For those of you who don't know what I'm talking about, where have you been? For those who do, is this verdict really any surprise?_

_This all began with the RCPD calling in the supposedly elite S.T.A.R.S. (Special Tactics And Rescue Squad) unit to assist them in dealing with the on-going "cannibal murders" investigation on 24/07/98 which, over approximately the past two months, had been the main focus of RCPD investigations and manpower. What actually happened once this occurred may well be in question for some time to come yet, but the outcome was a result nobody could have imagined rational, highly-regarded and experienced intelligent men and women such as the S.T.A.R.S. would deliver._

_The reason for the involvement of the S.T.A.R.S. was obvious to any Racoon City citizen who watched the news or read the newspapers: the disappearance and Murder of several citizens and tourists over the time period in question. Nobody knew who was responsible for the increasing number of killings and apparent abductions, but the activities of the killer or killers were clearly escalating and the RCPD appeared unable to apprehend or stop the killer or killers in question. Despite the creation of roadblocks and checkpoints manned by heavily armed RCPD officers on the city limits, helicopter searches, the use of canine units and an intensive interrogation as well as investigation of all possible areas, possibilities and suspects, the only result the RCPD achieved was to have the Arklay Mountain area and forest declared an unofficial no-go area while parents kept their children indoors out of fear and nobody went anywhere alone._

_Members of the public reported seeing unidentified individuals, apparently either drugged or injured, or both, roaming the forests and even the city limits more than once, on occasion the call reaching the RCPD quickly enough to allow them to deploy officers to the location in question. The same members of the public afterwards reported hearing shots fired, even screams, but nobody was ever apprehended and officers stated that the attackers escaped into the forests without fail the moment they became aware of Police approach, making pursuit impossible given the fact that numbers were a complete unknown and all attacks occurred in night time. _

_Despite Chief Iron's reluctance to involve the S.T.A.R.S. on the stated basis he believed that the RCPD could resolve the Case given time to work, the rising body count forced his hand. Captain Albert Wesker, Commanding Officer of the Racoon City Branch of the S.T.A.R.S., stated before the catastrophic mission that led to his own death, as well as many others, that he was of no doubt the S.T.A.R.S. could and would resolve the "cannibal murders" investigation quickly and efficiently while aiding the RCPD in its enquiries. One wonders, if the Captain had survived, what he would make of what has occurred since he made that statement._

_The only concrete facts available are that the S.T.A.R.S. Bravo Team was sent on a reconnaissance mission on 24/08/98 over the Arklay Mountains. Its membership was as follows below:_

_Enrico Marini-Commanding Officer_

_Richard Aiken-Communications Specialist_

_Rebecca Chambers-Medical Student_

_Forest Speyer-Sniper_

_Kenneth J. Sullivan-Chemist_

_The team's aerial reconnaissance of the Arklay Mountains was cut short by an unknown catastrophic malfunction, which forced an emergency landing of their helicopter in the mountains. All contact with the team was lost, after which the S.T.A.R.S. Alpha Team was immediately scrambled to provide assistance and rescue if necessary. The Alpha Teams membership was as follows:_

_Captain Albert Wesker-Commanding Officer_

_Barry Burton-Second in Command_

_Chris Redfield-Pilot and Field Officer_

_Jill Valentine-Field Officer_

_Joseph Frost-Vehicle Expert_

_Brad Vickers-Pilot and Computer Expert._

_The Alpha Team quickly located the crashed Bravo Teams helicopter and landed to inspect both scene and the status of Bravo Team. This is where rational, factual accounts of what happened end._

_To give the briefest of recaps, the Alpha Team survivors state that they found the mutilated remains of a Bravo Team member near the abandoned Bravo helicopter before they were attacked by unidentified assailants. Brad Vickers, the Alpha pilot, immediately effected take-off and evacuated the area-without waiting for the Alpha Team to re-board the vehicle. The team were forced to seek sanctuary in the abandoned Spencer Mansion owned and maintained by the Umbrella Corporation, only to discover that the Bravo survivors had had the same idea first. What follows reads and sounds like the script for a horror movie that would have been laughed out of town in the time of the original Texas Chainsaw Massacre film. _

_Clearly deranged men and women made Psychotic by extensive drug use and isolation being present in the Spencer Mansion and the surrounding woods in considerable numbers is the only logical explanation offered, given by Chief Irons after consultation with RCPD and Umbrella Corporation Psychologists, to explain the statements given by the S.T.A.R.S. Worse, the S.T.A.R.S. survivors themselves have to have been exposed to the same drug combinations to be claiming to have experienced what they have, leading many to question the status of their long-term mental health. _

_To conclude this recap, the S.T.A.R.S survivors somehow succeeded in destroying the Spencer Mansion utterly and escaping from the area in the Alpha helicopter, which had returned to rescue them. This speaks of extreme paranoia and possible dementia on the part of the S.T.A.R.S. survivors, to say the least, since the total number of casualties caused by their actions cannot be calculated. At best, their perception of reality was so damaged by the drugs they were exposed to that they were not responsible for their actions. At worst, they are guilty of mass murder. These survivors are:_

_Chris Redfield_

_Jill Valentine_

_Barry Burton_

_Rebecca Chambers_

_As a result of their stated actions and the catastrophic consequences resulting, Internal Investigations into the surviving S.T.A.R.S. have resulted in their immediate Suspension from duty pending full Physical and Psychological Evaluation, which will be followed by job-related Evaluation this Reporter is informed by senior sources will end with the surviving S.T.A.R.S. being released from the organisation itself at the very least. Also extremely likely is an extended stay in Psychiatric Facilities, which have been offered to the city by the Umbrella Corporation free of charge due to the S.T.A.R.S. operatives clear and distinct Breakdowns, despite the financial loss suffered by the Corporation with the destruction of the Spencer Mansion, which it owned._

_Umbrella Corporation is still in talks with the International S.T.A.R.S Headquarters in New York concerning the actions and accusations of the surviving Racoon City S.T.A.R.S., but it is believed that threatened Court action against the S.T.A.R.S. organisation by Umbrella Corp. will be avoided in return for the handing over of the surviving Racoon S.T.A.R.S. to the relevant authorities for Trial on whatever Charges are brought and treatment as deemed necessary. This newspapers view is that the sooner this awful, tragic situation is dealt with and the surviving S.T.A.R.S. officers given the help they so clearly need, the better._

_In conclusion, this Reporter and others made attempts to Interview friends, associates and co-workers of the S.T.A.R.S. team to gain their views of what has occurred. Many spoke willingly and stated that, for all of their skill and experience dealing with unique situations of a criminal nature, whatever the truth of what had happened in the Arklay Mountains and Spencer Mansion, the result had been to leave all of the survivors of the mission extremely traumatised at best._

_Only two individuals held opinions to the contrary. Martin Peyroux, senior S.T.A.R.S Agent in charge of the region of the USA Racoon City is contained in and, for personal reasons, an RCPD officer by the name of Amber Bernstein, believed to be the girlfriend of the deceased Joseph Frost._

_Agent Peyroux stated that he had known Barry Burton since he enlisted with the S.T.A.R.S. at age 21, sixteen years ago now, and never once has he known the man to lie or exaggerate no matter how awful or unimaginable the situation. As for the remaining S.T.A.R.S. survivors, Agent Peyroux stated that "He would have taken Burton at his word if Burton said he would survive a swim in molten lava, then dived in". Therefore, if Burton said the S.T.A.R.S. survivors were telling the truth, that was the case._

_Lieutenant Amber Bernstein, of the RCPD, stated that her relationship with the deceased Joseph Frost was completely irrelevant to the investigation of the "cannibal murders" case and, in any case, no concern of this Reporters. What mattered was the fact the many of the S.T.A.R.S. Agents, all of them friends of hers, died during the mission which only four returned from. She would leave no stone unturned in her investigation of the truth of the matter, including the possibility that some of their accusations at very least worthy of consideration. Attempts to draw the Lieutenant on whether or not her lovers death has made her more open to extreme and even absurd theories in an attempt to deal with and explain the loss she has suffered drew an unprintable response and a warning, to be careful of intruding on an RCPD officers private life._

Readers can, of course, draw their own conclusions from the information gathered during the investigation into the final S.T.A.R.S. mission, but this Reporter and this Newspaper can see the way the wind is blowing. It is our stated opinion that it would be best for them to be removed for treatment as soon as possible, so that the city can heal, move on and forget these awful incidents as soon as possible.

Serena Baccarin, stopped by the pavement outside the central offices of the Racoon City Times in her rental car, had to pause and re-read the article to be able to take it seriously. It was a dull and wet August day, rain pounding down on the concrete and stone pavements, hammering down on the roof of her car with increasing force even as the wind whipped the rain in all directions with gusts of gale-force winds.

The sun was hidden behind grey clouds being crowded out by bigger, thicker, more dangerous-looking black clouds which looked as though they'd escaped from a tropical hurricane and been waiting for precisely the moment they reached Racoon City before throwing down everything they had in them with enough force to hurt. People were scurrying past in raincoats held shut over their necks and even over their heads on their way home from work, some clutching inside-out umbrellas or screaming children even as they did their best to run through the awful conditions and escape to the warmth and comfort of their homes. Doors banged open in the wind as people went through them, then had to be forced shut as they were buffeted by the wind.

The scene suited her mood perfectly. At the moment, she was seriously considering striding into the building, tracking down the Reporter called Jane Whirry and breaking every bone in the woman's body until something very bad happened. Leaving her severed head on her desk for her colleagues to find had always worked when she'd wanted to frighten the media types before, as well, but she knew she was overreacting in this case. Umbrella Corp. _owned_ Racoon City and, simple truth, they got what they paid for.

The article she'd just read was no objective analysis, it was part of a full-out PR assault on the surviving S.T.A.R.S. which amounted to a character assassination. That required an answer, even if she couldn't casually deal with a senior Umbrella executive as she would have preferred. Killing Umbrella security guards, as well as possibly UBCS Agents, even using her methods, would have set off every alert Umbrella HQ in Paris had, no matter what she did to her target. To do what she had in mind would have been taken as a Declaration of War and she did _not_ need BOW Agents like Pierre Dupree being sent after her, not with the resources and influence Umbrella had. Not until there was no other choice at all, at any rate. No, she'd have to be more...subtle.

Her car was small, sturdy and she didn't care what else. All that did matter was that everything important worked, it had a good engine and functioned like a workhorse on steroids if necessary. It was small, grey-black and utterly nondescript, exactly what she'd gone looking for when she'd needed a car to get south from DC in a hurry. As a plus, it had proved easy to conceal weaponry on the inside by popping plastic frames and replacing them, with triggers just in case.

She was wearing tight black trousers that made sure her range of movement wasn't restricted, a cream shirt, solid hard-heeled black shoes which protected her feet as well as functioning as a form of weaponry, a grey waterproof jacket and black leather gloves that form-fitted her hands. Her hair fell loose to her shoulders, so short it didn't need to be bound back at all. A two-shot holdout Magnum pistol built of plastics was concealed between her breasts in a carefully placed holster, while a granite knife with a razors edge was sheathed at the base of her spine. Normally she wouldn't have been so careful, but Umbrella Corp. ruled here.

She stepped out of the car, retrieving the plain grey folder from the passenger seat first, locked it behind her with the electronic lock and stared up at the Racoon City Times building. Six storey's tall, broad and whitewashed with a set of black letters across the midpoint of the building spelling out RACOON CITY TIMES, walls made out of stone and lots of glass windows. There were steps leading up to the front entrance, which was made of two revolving doors and a central floor to ceiling window which allowed any visitor to see inside. All there was to see was a broad, flat lobby at the centre of which a bored Security guard sat behind a desk, in front of which were eight steel chairs for people to sit in and wait, beyond which were four elevators, two either side. As normal and standard a layout as she'd seen, how utterly boring.

She had no doubt at all she could walk in the front door, kill the guard without raising any alarms and leave him "asleep" on the desk before tracking down Jane Whirry, having words and leaving, all without being seen or heard by anyone except a woman who'd be left in such a state she possibly wouldn't remember even her own name when they were done. The Security System was a totally inadequate set-up of CCTV cameras surrounding the lobby, all of which she could tell were set on 24 hour record since they didn't move at all, or flicker as though the settings had changed at any point, not in the whole hour she'd waited to be sure. She'd automatically noted the tracks of the cameras and could determine six separate safe paths through the system where nobody would even catch a glimpse of her.

If all else failed, in this weather she could easily have faked a power outage for long enough to be done, but there was no need. She wasn't here to Ghost in and out, this was personal. That was what made her, rain dripping off of her hair and skin, draining off of her raincoat as she walked inside even as she felt the damp mould her clothes even closer to her body, simply walk through the front door and go up to the Security man at what was obviously the reception desk. She felt a slight chill as she walked in and recognised the effects of Air Conditioning, which was a waste in this weather.

It didn't stop the Security man almost falling over backwards out of his chair when he stood as she approached, eyes glued to her chest-no surprise there. Men were always, _always_ predictable, but rarely interesting despite that. Chris Redfield was one of those exceptions, which was why she'd come. She was glad she'd checked whether or not Jane Whirry was in before she'd come, she had serious business to attend to and this was no more than a stopover after all.

"Hello, I'd like to see Jane Whirry, please" she began, seeing no reason why she shouldn't be polite. Fantasising about Castrating the worthless guard would just have to do her for now.

"...I'm sorry, who...OH. Sorry, I'll need to see some ID before I can allow you to see her or speak to her. Do you have an appointment?" asked the guard, blinking until his eyes shifted away from her chest to her face, pawing the desk absently until he found his phone even as he stared at her as though he was trying to memorise her face. She didn't grind her teeth, she could do this without punching him in the face with his own phone to get an answer...

"No appointment, but she'll want to see me" she responded, handing over her ID, a basic Forgery that would pass anything short of a detailed Police examination. It listed her name as Jane Domare, as close as she cared to come to "Jane Doe". Her "profession" was Freelance reporter, a basic background check would reveal a reputation for getting to the truth behind some of the most dangerous stories in the world no matter where, when or what, regardless of risk. She "lived" by selling her stories to newspapers and taking a significant cash payment every time, staying in hotel rooms, B and B's or any hole available to get the job done.

The kind of individual who had no last known address, no telephone and little mail, all of which would be held at a sorting office until she collected it. Basic but effective, people who didn't want to be found or even thought of often set up as drifters and vagrants since, even in today's information-mad society and culture, the most dedicated researcher would have trouble finding someone who didn't even officially exist beyond a Birth Certificate and patchy Employment records.

He looked her ID over, nodded, handed it back, tapped in a number and called upstairs. After about a minute of quiet talking, he held the phone out to her. "She wants to speak to you" he said, with a shrug.

Serena took the phone, a young woman's honey-sweet voice almost immediately sounding in her ear. "_Is that Jane Domare?_" was, understandably, Whirry's first question.

"Yes, so I can assume that he mentioned I'm a freelancer in-city looking for a story? That is, because I want to discuss something with you I can't mention over the phone" replied Serena, letting more than a trace of the smoky sexuality she could use when she wanted to creep into her voice for effect, which certainly got a reaction from the guard as he turned to look at her more directly.

"_He did and, given your credentials, ah'm-**I'm** interested. Where should we meet? My office, or somewhere kinda more private?_" asked Whirry.

"The floor below the roof by the elevator on the right corner of the building when you enter, I'll find you. Five minutes?" asked Serena. On receiving an affirmative, she hung up and started walking. She didn't miss the guards leer at what he thought was her back, or the soft snigger he thought was silent. He knew something she didn't know about Whirry, she presumed. Well, she knew the woman wasn't going to try to kill her, nor was she going to whistle up a squad of Hit men. Anything else she could handle.

Getting into the elevator, she pressed the button and waited to reach the right floor. The elevator was old and not the most sturdy when it was built so she wasn't overly happy about using it, but it got there in the end. Thankfully, Whirry was standing waiting for her in the corridor. The corridor was painted a dark blue, carpeted with a soft light brown covering and had various old newspaper articles relating to events covered by the Racoon City Times framed and hung on the walls, Serena automatically noted. Corridor exits led off in front of and behind them, obviously leading to offices.

Tall, long-legged with barely evident breasts and a natural athletes build, Jane Whirry had corn-blonde hair falling to the mid back held back in a ponytail and light-green eyes. Pretty but far from beautiful, a light blue shirt, brown skirt and shoes enhanced her profile but she still looked like exactly what she was, a small-town girl made good of some looks and a little talent. Serena Baccarin was good at reading people, she had to be, so she was sure of her analysis the moment she made it.

Whirry turned and looked at her as she strode over, stopped, had a second look, then made sure to look her up and down before doing everything short of wolf-whistling. She was Gay, no surprise there, the guards reaction to her impending meeting with Whirry when he thought she'd been distracted had been all the hint she'd needed. Whirry was only five and a half feet tall, though, so Serena towered over her by almost six inches. In a rare flash of humour, she couldn't help but think that she must seem some kind of Amazon to Whirry given their differences in height, weight and physique. People who tried to chat her up had used that ploy more than once, she well remembered.

"Well, hello there sis. Now, what you got that's so important you'd drive all the way out here to show me it, huh?" asked Whirry, raising an eyebrow while her eyes swept Serena again in a frank appraisal since she hadn't been warned off. Serena honestly didn't mind, she'd never slept with a woman but had kissed more than one since they tended to kiss better than men. They simply didn't attract her physically, though, she liked just how hard and firm men's bodies were, how rough they got, even how they smelled...

"Somewhere a bit more private, first? I have to start by saying that I know how Chris Redfield got kicked out of the Air Force, though, all the dirty details, including the mission. I read your article on line, so I thought..." said Serena, letting her voice trail off so that Whirry would drawn her own conclusions. Serena wasn't lying about the details, she'd been on the same mission Chris had, which had ended with his being Released from the Air Force. Not that she was ever going to actually discuss the details, with anyone. But that had been a _good_ two months, what had come afterwards, when Chris had been temporarily Unemployed and she'd taken a Leave of Absence...

"Cool. This way, I know a place" replied Whirry, leading her into what was clearly a disused side office just down one of the corridors. After a quick glance both ways, she opened the door and led Serena into a clean but cramped office with a broad wooden desk in the centre, a chair seated behind it, empty steel filing cabinets on the left side and a set of empty wooden shelves on the right. A big light would have lit the whole room if switched on, but Whirry shut the door and made sure all of the window blinds were down before turning on a desk lamp, one which barely provided enough light to see by. "Well?" she asked, looking at Serena.

Serena just smiled, put the folder under the lamplight and tapped it. "Read this" she said, stepping backwards and away. Whirry sat down and opened the folder, clearly initially puzzled by the pictures, the numbers printed on the pictures. Then, as she understood, panic appeared in her eyes even as her face went so pale she almost seemed to have died of fright. She read right through the folders contents in ten minutes, then could do nothing more than sit and look at Serena for another minute before she found her voice again. "Why?" was all she could finally manage, a weak croak when her voice returned somewhat.

"You looked at the bottom line rather than going for the truth, you attacked someone I care about and, so were clear, because the medias job is to dress up the truth until nobody remembers what it is or was. Good men and women died in the Arklay mountains and at the Spencer Mansion, fighting to save the lives of you and your loved one's, yet you take the corporations line that they were all and _are_ all crazy just-like-THAT? You disgust me, so I'll be direct. Do not speak" said Serena, leaning in close, so close her breath lifted the fine hair on Whirry's cheek.

"I've killed and nearly been killed more times than you could imagine in any waking or sleeping nightmares defending your right to life and liberty, to think and say and do what you want, but I stand here before you now and don't really know why. I've given everything to the cause, sold my Soul to protect a world I believe in, only I meet people like you and I think I'm shooting in the wrong _direction_. Do you understand me?" hissed Serena, to a desperately quick nod from Whirry.

"There is nothing you can say or do in apology that would make any difference to me, so you'll just have to do what I say instead and hope its enough, in the end. After this conversation is over you will forget we ever had it, you will forget _me_. Is _that_ understood?" snarled Serena, to another quick, almost frantic nod.

"You are going to wait ten minutes before going back to your office once I leave you here. Once there, you are going to write an article refuting all of your accusations against the S.T.A.R.S. declaring that you were severely mislead and under informed. You will submit this to the Editor and get him to publish it. You will then Resign your position with the Racoon City Times with immediate effect, leave the city and never return. Do you _understand_ me?" hissed Serena, to another quick nod.

"Good. So, finally, you have seen the photographs, you know who they are, what the places and numbers are for, what I'll do. You will show them to nobody, you will tell nobody of them, you will not hint at them or make a suggestion concerning even their possible existence. You will sleep with them under your bed for the rest of your life and think of me, or I'll know and I'll find you. Last. Am I _clear_?" snarled Serena, to a nod from Whirry.

Serena slapped her sharply, snapping Whirry's head to one side and drawing a trickle of blood which ran from her left nostril. Whirry barely reacted, but slowly turned back to stare at her, confusion and shock on her face and in her eyes. "That's so you remember it" Serena said, simply, then simply turned and left at that, knowing she'd gotten the message across. She had other things to do.

Why she was so sure was very simple. She'd never learnt the art of half measures and threats were only effective when backed up by real, awful reality.

The pictures were of every member of Jane Whirry's extended family, taken unaware asleep, relaxing, eating, drinking, somewhere that should have been safe and inviolate every time. Several were of the rooms of Whirry's apartment, more were of every room of her parents house. There were two sets of numbers on every photograph, one dictating the date and time taken, the other a future point, every one of the photos with such notes being one with a specific individual featured prominently. Whirry was a smart woman, a Reporter who'd dealt with more than enough nasty cases and Police officers to know what she was being warned of when it was thrust in her face. All Serena had needed to do was drive home the fact she was serious, which she'd done.

Since she couldn't do the same with an Umbrella Executive...well, she'd just have to hope that the Letter Bombs did the trick. Significant industrial accidents were rather more complicated to arrange than she had time to casually spare, after all.

She walked back out of the building and into the increasingly heavy downpour, winds gusting ever stronger all about even as thunder rolled nearby, approaching the city. She paused to look around, ignoring the weather and the occasional hurrying pedestrian, shaking her head slowly.

Racoon city, built in the late 60's by architects working with state of the art designs and technology. It was about thirty years old and, by far, one of the most modern cities in the USA. Constructed of twenty-floor apartment blocks, small skyscraper office buildings, warehouses, shops, large houses for the particularly wealthy and massive industrial parks, it was all gleaming steel, shining brick and stone, gleaming-clean mirrored windows and every modern technology one could conceive of.

It was, in fact, the equivalent of a Garden of Eden in the late twentieth century, complete with snake in the grass-the Umbrella Corporation. Umbrella Corp. headquarters in Racoon City was by far the largest office building in the city, six floors high, almost half a football pitch in width and length, equipped with bleeding edge tech and guarded by an army of elite security guards who would shoot to kill to prevent a security breach.

It had other, smaller facilities dotted across and throughout the city, owned a number of the rich-mans-land houses, which were given as gifts to high-ranking Umbrella staff like William Birkin and his family. It had a major financial interest in the local schools and University which made sure the Corporation got into every syllabus somehow, effectively supplied the local hospital with medical gear and medicines, had Contacts and Agents on their payroll in City Hall, every public body and in every political group.

Digging had revealed that they owned Chief of Police Brian Irons due to past sins that would have put him in jail many times over if not for the Corporations influence. The Mayor was in their pocket because he'd accepted Campaign money from them and knew he'd have lost without their support, while he was also a family man and wanted to remain one.

The list went on and on, but the simple fact was that the only way to move around, eat, drink and sleep in Racoon City without Umbrella Corp. knowing where you were going and what time you'd be there was to not _be_ in Racoon City. Just because she was certain they weren't paranoid enough to bug every office in the local newspaper buildings didn't mean she was even close to safe, she'd have to watch her back the whole time she was here. Even perfect strangers who wouldn't remember her face a minute after seeing her couldn't be trusted here, there was no telling what they _might_ be doing, really.

She got back in her car, started the engine and put on the wipers before waiting for a space in the thin traffic and pulling out. Her next stop was RCPD headquarters, there was someone else she had to meet on her way to Chris.

Y

The building winds and heavy rain, even without the approaching heavy storm, would have made flying in most aircraft of any description lethally dangerous at the very least. Gale-force winds accelerating quickly to storm force intensity snapped back and forth across the helipad atop Umbrella's Racoon City headquarters, blasting whipping hails of rain across the landing pad, drenching the pad itself as well as the concrete and steel surrounds leading up to it. Dense black clouds streamed across the sky, cutting back even more the dimming sunlight, gathering together in an increasing mass of solid potential danger. Thunder rumbled louder every moment, a flash of lightning just outside of the city proper lighting up the area beneath the clouds for a moment before it passed, letting everyone know that worse was coming.

Apparently, the pilot of the red-black transport helicopter making its way into a carefully aimed approach and landing were little troubled by any of this. Windscreen wipers swept back and forth while the down blast from the rotors blasted rain and people away from the landing pad. The three people watching were glad that the pilot wasn't visibly nervous and that the landing would soon be over, although none of them would admit it. Only one of them breathed a sigh of relief as the helicopter touched down, after which the pilot immediately shut down the engines even as crew ran up and secured the vehicle, prior to strapping it down and settling it properly before the storm hit, which they would as soon as the rotors stopped spinning.

Dressed in a heavy black raincoat with the collar turned up, the dark uniform of Umbrella's Security arm and all-terrain boots, the largest of the waiting figures was Major Timothy Cain, Umbrella Corps. Head of Security, six foot three tall and a big man who knew it. With light blonde hair soaked about his head, pale blue eyes and a bronze tanned skin atop a weightlifters physique the German-born ex-Military man could have passed for the Aryan elite people often said he thought he was behind his back, since people who insulted him to his face didn't survive the experience. Cain's own opinion was that he came from good stock, no more no less, a fact that people should respect-or else.

Dressed in a heavy black raincoat which was only done up because it would have flapped wildly everywhere in these conditions, the woman waiting wore a light cream blouse and ocean-blue skirt as well as a pair of dark red shoes. Oddly, given the conditions, she also wore a pair of circular-framed ruby-red sunglasses which completely concealed her eyes. Long red-gold hair fell down to her waist in a tight ponytail, while a compact, hard-muscled figure helped to define firm curves beneath her clothes, her slim five foot nine frame concealing considerable power. Seemingly a mixture of Caucasian and Arabic blood with smooth features and the lush, full-featured sensuality of form that came from such a mix, anyone who knew her background asked about it would have said the truth was...complicated.

Her name was Lianna Styx, she was the Regional Security Commander for Umbrella Corp. and she was _far_ from happy about being overruled by Cain, her direct superior, in her own territory. However, Umbrella was Umbrella, so she'd made her point and then made other plans.

The last man there, in his early forties so about five years older than Cain and a little over ten years older than Lianna, was the one the other two both listened to. With dark brown hair greying slightly at the edges, penetrating sharp brown eyes so dark they were almost black and a hard, sharp face just beginning to show the lines drawn by advancing age, he was both the man everyone knew any nobody did, not really. Wearing a heavy raincoat and securely clutching an umbrella over his head a sharp grey suit, white shirt and tie were set about a trim, muscular body which stood six feet tall straight up. Faster and far smarter than anyone ever realised until the job was done, his name was Trent and he was Umbrella's top trouble-shooter.

Of late, he'd discovered that his talents were in exceptional demand in Racoon City, so he'd made the journey there in person to see and hear why for himself. He intended to leave again as soon as the storm passed, he could see what was coming and had no intention of standing around waiting to suffer the consequences. No, he had other plans, his own...

The woman who stepped out of the helicopter made all of them seem like the most normal people who could be conceived of. Why was easy, who was another matter.

Her given name was Jovana Kasica, but everyone called her _Harvest_. Five feet seven inches tall, she was all hard muscle and lean lines, her face and even her eyes being constantly sharp and angry. Physically twenty-five years old she was far older in reality, older than Trent, but the how was a matter for nightmares and insanity.

Dreadlocked white hair fell to just above her shoulders while violet eyes almost burnt two holes in an aristocratic face, not taking away from the bone-white chill of her colourless body that was only illuminated by impossibly coloured eyes. She was wearing heavy steel toe capped brown boots, a tight light blue shirt which the rain had already soaked through which finished above the torn black jeans held around her hips by a massive belt with a silver skull head for a buckle. At the base of her back a raven tattoo was visible, coloured a deep black with the words "Baron Samedi" inscribed through it in dark, bloody red. Bone shard earrings hung from both ears, while a necklace forged of platinum ended with a blood-red multi-faceted ruby itself surrounded by intertwined gold and silver lengths.

Just to look at her was disturbing, to know anything about her was to _never_ relax around her. One of Umbrella's few elite BOW Agents, she had unique qualifications for the job in hand and had been Trent's personal choice to lead the operation, the only individual immediately available who he was sure was both capable and able. Unlike Cain, she was also almost supernaturally competent.

Cain bullied his way through problems, hired geniuses and threw Orders at them then rarely bothered to check the results, told his people what to do and expected the required results to fall out of the sky into his hands, or at least that had been Trent's experience of the man. If Cain had stayed in the Army rather than accepted Umbrella's job offer after the Allies repelled the Iraqi invasion of Kuwait, the man would have ended up in charge of a Special Forces unit but NEVER made it to a senior position, let alone the General Staff, that Trent was sure of.

Except for in the field he had the organisational and leadership skills of an eighteen year old incompetent, but nobody had dared ever tell him that because he was a savage in a fight and one of the most capable killers the US Military had ever had pass through its ranks. The man had just never realised only the layers of competent staff they had placed deliberately between him and his men were the ones who made his Orders make sense, which said little for his intelligence as well.

Lianna Styx was the opposite, organised, competent, effective and efficient, all as well as being a superb soldier in her own right. Trent had found the contrast so entertaining that it had actually made him laugh before now, which he'd had to make sure Cain didn't overhear or suspect. Cain just didn't get the fact that Umbrella had wanted a strong man to bang heads together and scare people into cooperation when they'd hired him, as well as someone actually capable in combat operations when necessary, which was exactly what they'd got. He made sure the smile that threatened to spread across his face didn't at the thought.

Jovana just looked at the three of them, her eyes pinning them one after the other, then her lip lifted and she almost snarled. That wasn't good. "Where is she?" asked Jovana...

/End of Part One. All Reviews appreciated/.


	2. Chapter 2

For all disclaimers: see first part.

**Sentences**

/August 1st, 1998, Racoon City, the USA/

Looking into the sealed Lab complex hidden deep inside Racoon City General Hospital, hands pressed up against the glass walls from the outside, Jovana Kasica felt Cain's eyes on her and didn't give a damn. She didn't give a damn what very many people at all thought of her-she had her reasons-but the comatose female figure lying on the bed in the lab was one of very few people whose opinion _did_ matter to her. That made seeing her like this...difficult.

The room was twenty foot square, all white with sterile surfaces, beeping medical equipment and surgical tools. It was filled by medical staff in surgical scrubs, most of whom were clustered around the woman she'd come to see. The few others, three of them, were working on a young man she didn't know. She focused on him first.

Six-one tall, maybe, well-muscled, early thirties, chestnut hair that had mostly been shaved away, eyes shut so no way to determine the colour or type. The kind of muscular, well-developed physique that spoke of at least three hours a day spent at the gym working out and pushing weights, an athletes long legs suggesting he'd been a runner once.

He was naked, the lower half of his body only covered by a sheet, but the rest of him told her enough to let her guess what was going on. His body was being effectively dismantled and restructured, bones shifted around, muscle groups bunched and added to, sinews stretched, artificial enhancements ranging from futuristic cybernetic additions to Genetic manipulation and what looked suspiciously like Nanotech. The top of his skull was off, the brain exposed as the skin was folded back. Pieces of computer technology were being inserted into specific areas-optic nerves, movement centre, automatic functions like vital organs.

He was hooked up to a veritable Christmas Tree of computer systems and medical equipment monitoring everything going through his mind, every single thing his body did-there was even what looked like a system downloading information directly from his brain in the form of images and sounds. Apparently one of Birkin's new toys had worked out, she'd heard rumours of attempts to create an AI interface capable of directly linking to the human brain and sending or receiving messages to or from it.

She knew all of the signs, she'd seen them before. Agents of Black Umbrella saw everything eventually, that was part of their job. They were emptying out the mind of whoever the man was prior to a Mindwipe and Behavioural Modification, added to by all manner of hypnotic suggestion and drug therapy, after which they'd make sure by installing control programs into the hardware already in his head. They were making him into a Tyrant, the early stages of a transformation already apparent, a creature they could not, ever, loose control of. Well, that just meant he was already dead, still breathing or not. Who he was didn't matter to her, so she turned to the person who _did_.

Shoulder-length ice blonde hair, green eyes half-concealed behind fluttering eyelashes as the woman fought the effects of heavy sedation with only partial success, aristocratic features and a natural athletes lines, lean and hard-muscled all over a body just over five and a half feet tall. Slim and quick, long legged but so compact in body and form that men who didn't like good legs and a pretty face wouldn't even look at her twice. She was wearing the same as the man, although her modesty was preserved since the sheet had been secured to her torso at the side, so Jovana could see the old scar running over her left upper chest up to her shoulder-an old knife slash the woman had received in a reckless knife fight as a youth on the streets, left to heal naturally.

_Alice Abernathy_. Head of Security for the Hive, Umbrella's Above-Top-Secret so secure it doesn't legally exist where-all-the-nightmares-live central research base for North America. Lianna Styx's effective Deputy, ex-Secret Service for the US Government, who had wasted or ignored her talents and driven her into the welcoming folds of Umbrella Corp. A rare friend and a woman Jovana would have trusted with her life, before this. Now?

Jovana's eye's tracked the injector tracks and needle marks, all of the monitors attached to Alice, then she sighed silently as she took in what was clearly going to be done to the young woman, who was only just staring down thirty now. She was no longer useful to Umbrella after what had happened, so now she was being utilised in a way the corporation found most efficient. Was she just going to let this happen? _Could_ she do anything about it, directly or indirectly, if she decided "No"?

She stood back from the glass, none of her three companions missing the fact that there was no mist left on the glass where she'd touched it, something which simple body heat should have generated. She was called Harvest for more reasons than most guessed.

"Let me see if I have all of this straight: Alice Abernathy, the woman I specifically requested as my Second, is lying in that room an effective vegetable because she betrayed Umbrella, wanted to shut us down. Rain Ocampo, who I asked for as Weapons Specialist and Marksman, is dead in the Hive. One and his entire team, bar that idiot Kaplan and Rain, are all MIA presumed a total loss. Am I right so far?" asked Jovana, voice so cold most people would have stepped away from her at just the sound.

Cain just nodded, wishing he could slap some sense into Jovana so she'd stop dissecting his peoples failures and get the job she was here for done. Now he was here he'd deal with the Security aspects of the situation, which Lianna hadn't been able to.

"On top of this the Hive is breached since you, Cain, ordered the Lockdown Overridden in an attempt to discover what had actually happened down there, only for your entire Backup team to get slaughtered by what came out. On top of _this_ the Spencer Mansion is gone, destroyed by its Self-Destruct system following the S.T.A.R.S. investigation. To which we must add the destruction of the White Umbrella training facility, also destroyed by Self-Destruct, this time thanks to Lianna here and her team. Mutations and Subjects are loose all over the Arklay Mountains throughout the forests, have been picking off anyone who's gone into the forests and are beginning to make inroads into the city. Am I right?" asked Jovana.

Trent just smiled as Cain could only nod again, the big man clenching and unclenching his fists in impotent building rage. He almost hoped that Cain would be fool enough to attack Jovana, who had earned both her reputation and her position in just two years with Umbrella through sheer ruthless brutality and street smarts as much as anything else. He'd seen Jovana in action once, it wasn't a sight he was going to forget. If he went for her, Cain would most likely end up with his intestines wrapped around his throat as an improvised garrotte before he died...

"In summary, then, every major Umbrella facility outside of Racoon City in the region has been destroyed or rendered utterly compromised. The Red Queen is dead, so we can't even remote-access whatever is left of the Hives computer network. The only people who know more than we do are the S.T.A.R.S. survivors, who would rather slit their throats and bleed to death with a smile than talk to anyone associated to Umbrella in any way-and the woman in that room, which makes this very simple" said Jovana, before pausing and shaking her head.

"Lianna, I know who and what you are, I respect your abilities, but your clearly loosing your grip on the situation here and the intelligence we have is at best sketchy. Before I can lead a strike team down into the Hive, even before I can visually confirm destruction of the White Umbrella facility and the Spencer Mansion, I need better, much better. There's only one source of information like that I know is reliable: _her_. I need to talk to Alice before this goes any further and, no arguments, I need her off the drugs, temporarily at least. They can have her back when I'm done with her. Well?" asked Jovana, staring pointedly at all three of her companions.

Lianna just grinned and pulled down her sunglasses, revealing pure amethyst eyes, an unearthly purple colour with no distinguishing features at all, just a solid mass of swirling colour. "Sounds good, it works for me. But, it has to go through jockstrap here. Cain?" replied Lianna, her grin turning into a smirk at the sharp look Cain shot her.

"Then it's settled, Umbrella needs the research and development data held in the Hive more than it needs answers about what happened out there. You have a go" replied Trent, cutting Cain off before he could speak. Cain almost cracked a tooth he bit down so hard on whatever he'd intended to say, aware of the consequences of annoying Trent at the very least. Lianna's smirk just got bigger at the sight.

Jovana didn't say another word, just like she didn't let anything other than satisfaction show on her face or in her eyes. Cain was a soldier of limited imagination and intelligence, but he was very, very good at causing pain and death where people he didn't like were concerned. Nowhere near her level, of course, but she didn't want to have to kill him to get a bunch of second-string Hitmen he'd hired off of her back.

Lianna's support was a given, that she'd known from the outset. Lianna's job had once been described as the most boring in Umbrella below President of the Company, since Umbrella had such a tight stranglehold on Racoon City they owned the Police Department, City Hall and the Mayor, had a major influence over every media outlet and major financial interests in every organisation in the city. Umbrella had CCTV cameras everywhere, even inside peoples homes where necessary in case of security concerns, so the company often knew more about the cities population and its habits than the supposed authorities did. They owned the city, quite simply, so anything which happened happened _with_ their knowledge and consent.

The job _had_ been boring for Lianna, but her recreational activities had been... unorthodox, to say the least. Hunting parties with Captain Albert Wesker, the now-dead Captain of the S.T.A.R.S. in Racoon, where they killed "escapees" from the Spencer Mansion and slept together within sight of the kill. She'd watched the entire George Romero "Zombie trilogy", Night, Dawn and Day, straight through several times, then killed people using the exact same wounds and weapons caused in various scenes in the movies. She'd even insisted on target practice in the woods using targets tied to trees-attached to the heads and hearts of unfortunates she'd taken a dislike to. She'd often used a Crossbow to make a point.

What was much less well known was what she and Alice had been to one another. Lianna and Alice had spent whole days and nights, for weeks at a time, playing Chess games or other strategy set-ups. They'd compared notes on men, shared Alice's Security "Husband", Spence Parks, talked about anything and everything and confided secrets in one another. The normally reserved, if never shy, Lianna had clearly finally found a real friend, a fact which hadn't escaped White Umbrella's attention...so if Lianna could do something to help Alice, Jovana knew she would.

Jovana couldn't help but reflect that she'd never had a friend like that... Whatever Alice had been to her, notwithstanding?

Y

The RCPD headquarters building looked as though it had been built by someone with a great deal of money and no sense, or at least that was Serena's first thought on seeing the structure. Eight-foot concrete and stone walls, double steel gates painted a dark, bloody red, a three-storey broad structure set in the middle of what looked like a medieval courtyard the central building itself. Smaller buildings which had to be firing ranges, bunkhouses and storerooms were scattered around the courtyard, every one of the buildings being built to the same design as the walls, purely functional. The main, building, though, was a different matter.

The big structure was almost gothic in nature, with a heavy overhanging roof, broad window ledges, big glass windows that she suspected weren't made of reinforced glass and red brick walls supporting a black slate roof which led to a clear, raised area which had to be a helipad at the centre of the roof. The main entrance was a set of thick double doors made of heavy wood backed by steel supports, currently half open because of the weather she supposed. It looked like the architect had gotten stuck somewhere between a 19th century mansion, a castle and a museum, certainly she'd never heard of an actually functional police station where a boy with a brick and a ladder could have caused a major security breach.

Off to one side and beyond the central structure a parking area held a variety of marked and unmarked Police cars, as well as what had to be officers own civilian cars-she could spot the difference easily, her job had required her to fight for and against the Law too many times for her not to know every single marker to look for. She could see CCTV cameras mounted on the gate posts and walls, as well as on the main buildings sides, front and back, but if she'd wanted to she could have gotten in and out of the building without disturbing anything but dust. The place was ridiculous from a security professionals perspective, she could have hidden a Nuke in the basement and nobody would have even guessed at her presence from what she'd seen so far.

Weather or no weather, there should have been guards. That meant sloppy work and bad leadership, or just a lack of money and interest...the list went on. There was no point to it right now, she'd parked the car down the road and her intended contact was here. She was going inside, whether or not the RCPD wanted her there, increasingly soaked or not. The near-joke almost made her smile, when had the weather ever bothered her?

She walked on inside, pushing her way in through the heavy doors, abruptly stepping out of the increasingly appalling weather into what turned out to be a cool, grey environment where a good part of the light was provided by the remnants of sunshine drifting through no less than a stained glass window, the rest being supplied by bright, sharp electrical lights. A big semicircular desk was directly opposite her, in front of which was a tall white marble statue of a woman carrying an amphorae which was trickling water into the fountain pool the statue was standing in.

Sharp ears caught slight sounds of movement above and she glanced up at the two floors above her, both floors bordered with fine oak balustrades with stairs and an elevator leading up. Police officers who had been walking past on various assignments had stopped briefly on seeing the beautiful stranger walk in, no doubt wondering how to get a better view, who she was and what she was doing there, in that order. Well, maybe that would work in her favour, she knew Amber Bernstein was somewhere in the building after all, somebody would know her and where she was.

Glancing back down and across at the two pretty young Secretaries, both dressed inappropriately for the season and weather in thin blouses and what had to be uniform skirts, she spotted the RPD emblem on the floor under her feet as she strode over to the reception desk. She ignored the passing male Police officer, who did everything short of wolf whistle when she almost brushed past, resisting the urge to slap him so hard his ears would ring for the rest of his life with some effort. The two Secretaries were shivering with cold, she noticed, but both looked curious at her appearance and unexpected arrival.

The more she saw, the stranger this place got. Was she in a police station in the late 20th century or a bad dream where the architect had been High when he drew the plans out? She felt like the place was stuck between deciding whether it was a museum or a mausoleum rather than anything else, she could almost hear the dead crying out for peace...

A tall, broad-shouldered Policeman was walking down the staircase towards the ground floor, meaning he was going to walk right past her. Well-muscled without being exaggerated, softly handsome with traces of a beard, dark-haired and eyed, he was the supposedly perfect combination of tall, dark and handsome. Under other circumstances, if Chris hadn't been her reason for being here, she might have tried to engage such a delicious specimen in some small talk or even foreplay. Not now, though, not here, no matter her weak spot for men in uniform. Now, she was trying to work out why he seemed vaguely familiar.

He was only in his late twenties, just a little younger than her, so he could only have been a Cop for a few years. That made past professional contact unlikely, if not impossible. Research trip, then? Amber Bernstein had turned out to be one of the few honest Cops on the beat in the RCPD when she'd done the background check, so she'd checked associates as well, to be sure of no nasty surprises...

That was when the name hit her. _Kevin Ryman_, one of Amber's closest associates, an old friend and trustworthy Cop. He'd know where Amber was, for certain. She cut in front of him sharply, smiled the kind of smile men stopped just to see on her face and looked him in the eyes. He stopped, very suddenly, drawing in a sharp breath as his attention was abruptly forced to shift from whatever he'd been thinking of to the woman standing in front of him. He took her in, blinked, then locked eyes with her-and stopped moving completely. She'd yet to meet a man who could look her in the eyes and not do what he was told, something told her Kevin Ryman wasn't going to be an exception. It turned out she was right.

"Um…hi, Kevin Ryman, RCPD. You are...?" he managed, slowly, clearly barely even aware he was speaking aloud. She nodded, broke eye contact, making him blink suddenly-and held out a hand for him to shake.

"Jane Domare, sort of a freelance Reporter, in town for the S.T.A.R.S. story. A word of advice, though?" she replied, stepping in close even as his face and eyes hardened and she realised he was going to tell her to leave the heartbroken Amber alone, especially if she was a Reporter. Worse, he'd warn Amber to avoid anyone looking like her which, given her distinctive appearance, would create further problems she didn't need.

"I'm trying to investigate Umbrella Corporation, but I might as well be trying to dig through solid concrete just by staring at it. If I told you the threats and warnings I've received over just the last couple of years to lay off you wouldn't sleep well for the rest of your life. I _believe_ what the S.T.A.R.S. say they saw was real up in the Arklay Mountains, but I also believe that there's more to be learnt. I understand Amber Bernstein can arrange for me to meet them, whether or not their on Suspension, so I need to talk to her. Is she here?" asked Serena, raising an eyebrow.

Ryman just looked at her for several long seconds, then shook his head. "If I didn't think Amber deserved a break after everything she's been through, I wouldn't even be considering this. Even so, how do I know I can trust you? Understand me, you hurt her I'll throw you out of here so hard you won't hit the pavement before your through the gate" said Ryman, fists almost clenching as his fingers flexed. A close friend of Amber, obviously, maybe more?

"If I wanted to cause her trouble I would have called Chief Iron's and gotten her direct line number then not taken "No comment" for an answer, but I came here to hear what she has to say face to face. Does that tell you anything? Ask yourself if I'd be telling you why I'm here rather than hunting down the S.T.A.R.S. myself, anyway. They all have official addresses, you know. Or, I could have called Agent Martin Peyroux and requested he arrange formal interviews, which would have required polite refusals at the very least. Or not, once they had some idea what I was looking for. Anyway, trust is a fluid and suspicious thing, there's only one person you can ever really trust: yourself. That's what trust is, faith has nothing to do with it. Do you want me to go on?" asked Serena, setting her hands on her hips and chewing her lower lip in a posture she was sure he would, rightly, take as irritation.

He'd assume it was because she was fed up with having to explain herself, but that wasn't it. No, every moment she spent in the city was more of a problem for her until she could arrange a secure location at the very least, far more easily said than done. In fact, she only had one possibility in mind: Chris Redfield's apartment, one way or the other.

"Okay, come on, I'll take you to her" said Ryman, turning and walking back up the stairs. She followed, wondering what she'd make of this Amber Bernstein in their first face-to-face meeting. Chris had mentioned her in some of his sporadic letters, said she was a good, honest Cop who could be trusted. He'd also mentioned that Amber and Jill Valentine had some major personal history, apparently having known each other since early childhood, the two being so close they were almost sisters. This meant that Jill, a S.T.A.R.S. Agent herself, trusted Amber implicitly and unquestioningly, with anything.

Serena almost snorted at the thought, other recollections rolling around in her mind. Chris had also mentioned an on-again off-again romantic relationship he had with Jill Valentine, but she wasn't sure he'd put all of the pieces together and worked out that Amber had to be the one who'd advised Jill to break off the relationship once and for all. She didn't feel jealous about Valentine. She saw Chris only every few months at best, if she was lucky. Besides which, decorated S.T.A.R.S. officer, smart, capable and cute against professional Assassin for the US Government, even one as smart and stunning as she was? If Chris ever got the sense together to develop a stable long-term relationship with someone apart from her, she'd be the first to congratulate him.

It would cost her a piece of herself. It would cost him mind-blowing sex-his description, every time-as well as whatever part of herself she could share with him, but that was just tough. She was like cigarettes, addictive and sweet but utterly lethal and stinking of disease, eventually she'd kill him or get him killed, that was just the way these things worked. The way _she_ worked.

Besides which, she wasn't ultimately sure that Amber Bernstein was as trustworthy and sweet as she liked to make out. A name she'd apparently never even mentioned stuck out like a sore thumb when you looked up her background, the name of the one person she and Jill would have once gone to for anything the two of them couldn't or wouldn't handle.

Catherine "Cat" Mattis, renegade ex-Cop and convicted-in absentia-Mass Muderer. That Charge was just the worst, as well, she had a long, long list of awful crimes attached to her name-but ETC intel told Serena for certain that better than nine out of ten of the charges against Catherine Mattis were Lawyer-constructed garbage stuck on file by various forms of legal trickery. It wasn't common knowledge, for example, that the Endigo Corporation, the headquarters of which had been in New Orleans before its destruction, in an explosion supposedly caused by Catherine herself, had actually been a subsidiary of Umbrella Corporation all along. Nor was it common knowledge that Catherine had disappeared from the hospital she'd been taken to, suffering from serious injuries which should have killed her, leaving behind a dead man in her room whose ultimate employer had also turned out to be Umbrella.

Whatever Jill had done, Amber hadn't even evidently tried to follow up on matters. Maybe she had her reasons, maybe she just didn't like Catherine Mattis? Regardless, Serena didn't like oddities like that in background checks.

They walked through the station quietly, passing various officers, male and female, along with the occasional work of art and bizarre sculpture which made Serena's eyebrows rise. Somebody in the RCPD had money to burn, somebody very senior, she would go with Chief Brian Iron's himself. How much of a fool did it make him, then, to splurge the fact on his own headquarters, where everyone could see just how corrupt he was if they merely looked?

Some officers were working, some relaxing, some seemed to be stuck between the two, evidently trying to fill out Reports while swigging back coffee, tea and hot chocolate amidst cigarette smoke and the occasional lively discussion or argument. Every single group or individual she passed paused in whatever he, she or they were doing to get a better look at her as she passed by, though, which she almost found sweet. It was entertaining how often people only saw the pretty face and never even guessed at what might be working behind it, how many times had she used that dodge?

They came to a corner office, a small area screened on three sides by wood and metal screens, within which sat a desk which was almost covered by neatly organised files, folders, pens and papers. A half-full trashcan sat next to the desk, while in front of it a chair contained a young woman who could only be Amber herself. Serena paused to make sure.

Long, curly strawberry blonde hair, green eyes, roughly five and a half feet tall, easy good looks which stood out as a gentle beauty in good light or when she smiled, gently curvy physique and muscle which told of regular workouts in the Police Gym. Looked a natural in the dark RCPD uniform, as though it suited her and flattered her even though she'd only been on the job a couple of years, before which she'd been a waitress of all things. It was Amber, no question, the photographs she'd studied would have convinced her even without Ryman's help.

She couldn't help but notice that Amber's eyes seemed somewhat puffy and slightly bloodshot, though, nor did she miss the fact that there was a depleted box of paper handkerchiefs shoved to one side. She didn't need her skill for reading people to guess the cause, though, she knew about Joseph Frost. She would have expressed polite sympathies, but after the amount of carnage she'd caused and witnessed human life had little to no meaning to her. Words were just words, actions were what mattered in the end. Somebody crossed or hurt you you dealt with them, no more to be said.

"Amber? This is Jane Domare, freelance Reporter. _Before_ you throw her or me out, listen to what she has to say, okay? I'm leaving now, anyway" said Ryman, with a smirk as he turned and strode off. If looks could kill Amber's glare would have set fire to Ryman's shirt, that Serena didn't doubt.

"You're a _Reporter_? What rag do you produce rubbish for, the Racoon Times? Go bite the hands that feeds you somewhere else. I'm busy, angry and about ready to kill, okay?!" snapped Amber, her temper visibly flaring at the unwanted and unwelcome intrusion into her private time and space.

"The last time somebody said that to me we ended up on a Date. I'm not a Reporter, interested?" replied Serena, raising an eyebrow, wondering whether Amber would even hear what it was she had to say before trying to force her to leave.

"Funny. I'm not a Lesbian, so make your point. If your not a Reporter your even less welcome" snapped Amber, turning to look at Serena for the first time.

"I'm _The One Who Got Away_, Amber, also known as Chris's mystery girl. I know he's mentioned me, so don't deny the fact. In fact, tell me this before we say anything else: is this his number?" asked Serena, pulling out her Mobile and bringing up Chris Redfield's details. Amber just stared at the phone for a long moment.

"Alright, yes, that's him... _You're_ Chris's mystery girl, the one who nobodies ever met? How does that work? I've never even seen a photograph of you" said Amber, half-curious half-suspicious.

"I hate to use a cliché, but "The greatest trick the Devil ever pulled was to convince the world he doesn't exist" is all I should say. Hold on..." said Serena, before hitting the Speed Dial on her Mobile for Chris, after which she handed the phone to a surprised Amber. "Just tell him Serena's here and wants to meet up, he'll know what it means" she added, even as the ringing stopped and Chris Redfield's voice came on the line.

"_Hello?_" came Chris Redfield's voice, sharp and very American, rough with a hint of the cigarettes he'd started smoking again of late. Amber hated the rasp it gave him, herself.

"Chris, its Amber. This isn't my phone, before you ask, but I think you might know the owner. About six feet tall, very female, tawny skin, bright blue eyes and black hair, call's herself Serena?" said Amber, glancing at Serena for reaction.

"_**SHE'S** IN RACOON?!_" came back Chris's reply, so fast and loud she could have sworn it dented her eardrums. She had to hold the phone away from her ear for a few seconds to let her hearing get back to normal.

"That's a "Yes", then. I presume you want to meet up with her? Stop shouting by the way, Chris, I can hear you fine you know?" replied Amber, to an embarrassed silence from Chris.

"_Sorry, but you have no idea how important this is. Put her on, Amber, I'll explain later, really_" said Chris, this time at a much more normal volume. Amber sighed and held out the phone to Serena, who took it.

"He wants to talk to you" she said, simply. Serena's answering smile as she took the phone back was broad and honest for the first time since she'd come to Racoon City.

"Hello, Chris, its good to hear your voice again. Before you starting firing off questions like you usually do, lets begin with this: I heard about the Spencer Mansion and Arklay Mountains incidents in the media, the fall-out has reached CNN for one thing as I'm sure your aware. What I _also_ heard about was that there was more to the story, which is where you and I fit in. I'm here with Amber in RCPD HQ because I need a friendly face with me when I come to see you, a fact that creates a very short list right now. We need to meet, can you give me a when and a where or should I come to your apartment directly?" asked Serena.

"_My apartments being watched, I'm in and out of there a lot at the moment and I think its been turned over at least once by professionals. I'm speaking to you from...somewhere else. If were going to meet up, we should do it in a public place. The city park at about nine o clock? If you were to wander around with Amber in the central area for a few minutes, we might just run across one another_" said Chris.

"Chris, stop smoking. I can hear the rattling when you breathe, haven't I told you that before? I'll make you a better offer. Meet Amber at that time and place, then come meet me at your apartment. _I'll_ secure and sweep it before you get there, we won't be disturbed or interrupted. See you then?" replied Serena.

"_Only because its you, Sera. Apollo..._" said Chris, signing off with a nickname that was very particular to the two of them so she'd know for certain it was him.

"Artemis" replied Serena, then she hung up. Amber just looked at her for a moment, then shook her head.

"What was that all about? I can't make it, anyway. I'm on duty till midnight, double shift with the...disturbances going on" said Amber.

Serena straightened up then leant forwards to look Amber straight in the eyes, making the shorter, seated woman shift uncomfortably. Serena knew her eyes could cut deep, deep inside, Amber just didn't understand what was going on here yet.

"Amber, you don't know who I am or what I do, so I'll make this simple. If I absolutely had to, I could get the President to declare Martial Law in Racoon City by designating elements of its population a terrorist threat. I could get the CDC here by stating I've found suspicious canisters which could have contained any form of potentially dangerous chemical or biological construct. I could get the CIA, FBI and ATF here by stating that I have reason to believe Umbrella Corp. is selling products to terrorists, or just questionable elements. I could get "Federal" on you and get the Governor of the State to call Chief Iron's and make him place you on Extended Leave, or just Suspend you. Or, you could just call off duty tonight and do what I ask. I'm not really asking, you understand" said Serena, so quietly that only Amber could hear her.

"Since you put it like that, sure, why not?" replied Amber, smiling over gritted teeth.

Y

"I said NO. Would you like me to spell it?!" snapped William Birkin, head Scientist for Umbrella Corp. in the Racoon city area and, in Jovana's opinion, royal pain in the ass. If he wasn't so brilliant, so important to the company and its interests, so simply valuable to too many important people, she'd have strangled him on the spot and thrown his body out of the window. Unfortunately, she'd have to be politically correct and diplomatic here, Birkin was highly-placed and influential enough to cause her serious trouble if he put his mind to it.

Of course, that wasn't considering the supposedly-squashed rumours floating around Black Umbrella's headquarters you could still hear about if you kept your ear to the ground. The rumours that Birkin had finally done something even the Board of Directors and company President had gotten angry over, something so bad that steps were being taken to correct the situation on orders from the highest places. If the President and Board had handed down those kind of orders? Birkin was already dead. But, for now, she had to put up with him.

William Birkin, mousy brown thinning hair, soft brown eyes sharpened by real intelligence and the sharp points spinning around inside only a psychopath would ever display. Thin and unfit, almost pale from so many hours, days even, spent working inside the Hive and other concealed Umbrella labs with a level of obsession that would have killed the greatest patriot the USA had ever known. Always seen wearing a white lab coat over a white shirt, black trousers and shoes, occasionally with various medical instruments draped about him or stuffed into pockets. Husband of Annette, father of Sherry, IQ of 200+ and he still didn't understand basic concepts like "chain of command" or "charm". How he'd ever gotten Married, let alone gained a child, she'd never know.

"Dr. Birkin, even with Cain standing next to me here I have to tell you that I _can_ override your wishes on Security grounds in cases like this, so, for the _last_ time, it is _not_ up to you. Now get out of my way, or I'll go _through_ you" Jovana replied, barely holding her temper in check.

Birkin just stared at her, clenching and unclenching his fists, then glared at Cain, who shrugged. Trent Birkin wouldn't lock eyes with, the fact they loathed each other was common knowledge in the levels of hierarchy everyone in the room reached. He span around with almost a snarl to look into the cleared interrogation room, where a semi-conscious Alice Abernathy had been left barely upright in a plastic chair one side of a broad steel table.

She had been kept sedated while experiments were being carried out on her in the lab, but Lianna Styx's orders had gotten her extracted from the lab and moved to the interrogation room before Birkin had answered his Page, after which he hadn't had much say over what happened next. It didn't change the fact that he really hated to have his experiments interrupted, for any reason, by anyone, which was why they never were. People had ended up _as_ his experiments even for just annoying him before now.

"This is ridiculous and counter-productive at best, idiocy bordering on lunacy at worst. The Hive has already been reopened and we all know what the results of _that_ were, so I have to ask. What, precisely, do you honestly know that the woman in that room could tell you you don't already know?" Birkin snapped. His eyes were bloodshot, sweat stained every part of his body Jovana noticed. Was he nervous about something? Or just more twitchy than usual?

"How about...what the Hell actually _happened_ down there, you arrogant jackass? You know, little things like status reports on the MIA members of One's team, including One himself? How the T-Virus got out of a Sterile Max-Security lab into the air conditioning? What triggered the Red Queen's psychotic break-no, I will _not_ refer to it as a "programming fracture"-and why the Red Queen was EMP'ed? If I have to continue I'm going to tattoo the questions on your face with my fist, Birkin. Is that clear enough or do you want _me_ to spell it?" asked Jovana, sharply.

Birkin threw up his hands and stormed out, the door of the booth slamming behind him. Trent just smiled, Cain gritted his teeth and Lianna had to hide a smirk. Jovana poured herself a plastic cup of water, then a second one, before heading into the interrogation room. Biting her fingertips on the way, as though out of idle curiosity, she drew blood when she bit too deeply into the skin, a trickle of blood dripping into one of the cups and the water where it briefly showed as black against the white cup and clear water before dissipating.

That cup was the one she passed to the barely-aware Alice, without the knowledge of those watching and recording behind the one-way glass leading to the listening booth. Even so out of sorts she was barely aware Alice quickly seized and drank the contents of the cup, evidently having been fed and watered through only intravenous drips of late.

Jovana couldn't help but wonder if Alice would ever work out what had happened when she'd ingested the trace of Mutated blood from Jovana's veins, _after_ being exposed to the T-Virus by Birkin and others. She suspected that she'd never know the answers herself, this was almost certainly the last time she and Alice would ever talk. She just hoped that the transmission of two conflicting Virus samples would do some good, maybe even kill Alice outright, or allow her to keep some part of her humanity? It was all she could do.

Y

It had been a long time since Serena had been anywhere near Chris Redfield's home. It had been too long since they'd even been in the same place at the same time for long enough to do something about it.

That, she presumed, was why, with darkness falling and winds whipping up to a strong gale force that threw blasts of air around with an edge that could cut, she was just standing around outside Chris's apartment building. Staring in, looking around, almost uncomfortable at the thought of setting foot anywhere near the small apartment.

Well, it was either that or the fact she'd made a car with two people inside on a corner as plainclothes Umbrella Security staff, both drinking gallons of coffee and trying to look inconspicuous. Then there were the three people who were literally walking around the area, back and forth in a varying pattern, relieving one another every hour and a half so one could leave and take a break, allowing them all to stay fresh. Or there was the electronics and communications rig that wasn't hidden well enough in a top floor window. Just for fun, that left at least two people insides the building itself, one of which was always within shouting distance of Chris's apartment at all times, that she had established.

Basic strategy and tactics stated they were all armed, linked with radio communications and had Backup on immediate call. It also stated that there were more she hadn't seen, since Umbrella always went for quantity over quality and had never heard of "Overkill".

Nine definite threats, unknown variable of further unknowns, given that it was Umbrella she couldn't rule out the possibility of USF soldiers being employed as Backup in an emergency. USF soldiers came with weaponry and gear SWAT teams drooled over and would shoot to kill without hesitation or orders, on a crowded street full of women and children. That made a direct assault almost impossible, while an indirect assault would take time she didn't have to set up. Which left thinking outside the box as a solution...

She checked her watch, noted the time, sighed and pulled out her Cloned Mobile, one use only and gone. Thankfully, the Letter Bomb she'd sent would have certainly reached the sorting office at Umbrella HQ in Racoon by now. It was just a shame she couldn't get the attention of the Umbrella brass now, like she'd intended to. She dialled the number of the reception desk, put her left hand inside her jacket and felt the steel ball that concealed the remote detonator. She flipped it open.

"_Umbrella Corporation, how may I direct your call?_" came a young woman's voice. Serena couldn't help but sneer at the thought of cute young blondes sitting at the reception desk, wearing too-tight clothes and too much makeup, smiling with very faked innocence at every man who took to long a look. An organisation like Umbrella? Happened every time.

"Bomb" said Serena, relishing the single word, then she pressed the detonator trigger. A shriek of muffled sound suddenly echoed over the line, followed by a scream as a deafening roar echoed, before the blast-fired roar of sound howled into the air from the Umbrella HQ halfway across the city with enough sound and violence to stop traffic and people everywhere as windows shook. Black smoke belched into the air in the dying sunlight even as people started to shout, burglar and car alarms followed by security alerts, dogs and finally sirens sounded by Emergency vehicles echoing across the city.

If that didn't get the Umbrella Security Division recalling all active Agents to the HQ to control and investigate what had happened, she didn't know what would. Monitoring the surviving S.T.A.R.S. was hardly a high priority, for one thing, just something Umbrella did in case the wrong people paid any attention to what they were saying and made an attempt to investigate further, despite the S.T.A.R.S. total lack of evidence.

If that ever happened? Serena would have put her life savings on Umbrella simply sending out one of their BOW Agents to kill the S.T.A.R.S. survivors and get it over with. If they thought their notorious publicity or what they knew would protect them, the S.T.A.R.S. were terribly, fatally wrong. The US Government had made whole groups and families disappear before now without anyone noticing, people tended to forget just what the Cold War had been all about. Not people like her, though, no, never.

The Umbrella Corporation, though? They were only restricted, let alone controlled, by law if they chose to be. There were no limits on what they could do, no controls, it just depended on how much money they were willing to spend and how many they needed to kill, or wanted to.

ETC interrogation protocols let you have parts surgically removed, slowly, while the enemy Agent or individual was forced to merely watch. You were allowed to use any combination of drugs, lean on family members, use any torture method one could devise and simply keep at it until you succeeded. Her own personal favourite was beating what she needed to know out of someone at 35,000 feet in a jet, getting them to sign a confession, then throwing him or her out the door to save time. She'd left the cargo area covered in blood before now, left bits of the human body hanging from walls and attached to various sharp implements, but she was just doing what had to be done.

Umbrella, though? Given what they had at their disposal, just what they could do to anyone who really got them angry? By the time they were through with you, you would no longer be capable of even understanding what humanity was, let alone the fact you had once been human. There wouldn't be enough left of your mind for you to remember just how long you'd begged for death, or why...

The thick cloud of smoke was getting thicker, not thinning out, while the sound of sirens was getting increasingly loud. Maybe she shouldn't have used so much C-4? Not that it mattered, total and complete overkill only ever meant no survivors anyway. It would get the job done.

Less than five minutes later, everyone she'd identified and two she hadn't seen before ran out of three separate buildings or from around corners, leapt into two cars and a van, then sped away directly towards the Umbrella HQ. Job done, she could defeat any electronic surveillance she was sure they would have left functioning. Sloppy work from Umbrella's people, mind, she now had a visual ID on every member of their surveillance team. Of course she'd make one last circuit of the whole area, inside and out, to make sure before risking it. Risking the odds only ever got one killed, something people tended to ignore or forget...

/End of Part Two. All Reviews appreciated/.


	3. Chapter 3

For all disclaimers: see first part for all disclaimers.

NOTE: this part is character-focused rather than story-focused, my attempt to flesh out these characters somewhat. If it works or doesn't, let me know.

**Sentences **

/May 6th, 1998, the Spencer Mansion/

Lianna Styx blinked muzzily, flexed her hands, shifted her head and tried to remember where she was. The Spencer Mansion? Yeah, that was right. Why was she here? Well...she had more than one reason for that.

She felt the silk-smooth sheets and blankets about her, drawn in tight against her body, pressing against bare skin. The sheets were rumpled, warm-and stank of sex. She opened her eyes fully, registering now the fact that one of the reasons she was so warm. A mans body was under her, a body she lay half-on half-off, one leg slung over both of his, an arm across his chest, pressing against hard muscle and a flat stomach. She glanced up at his face for confirmation of his identity, then sighed.

Short-cut dark brown hair, eyes the same, rough good looks, about six feet tall, in exceptional physical shape-he had to be, given his job, let alone given the demands of his Security Division Partner and "Wife". A man she knew. Spence Parks, Alice Abernathy's "Husband" and Back-Up should she need it. Unlikely with one of Umbrella's prime, elite Agents, but overkill was always better than mistakes.

She sat up, the covers of the bed sloughing off of her naked body, revealing firm curves and lean lines to anybody using the Mansions Security systems, not that she cared. For one thing, the Red Queen handled security matters in the Hive and Mansion, a computerised AI bitch who could stare at what she couldn't have for as long as she wanted. For another, apart from her, Abernathy and Parks were the only people in the mansion-and both of them knew every detail of what she looked like nude, Spence in particular.

It wasn't as though she was some nymphomaniac, but her job did get boring and Alice had mentioned some of the perks of having Spence alone with her for long periods of time. With Wesker often, _too_ often, preoccupied with his Undercover work with the Racoon City S.T.A.R.S. and his Security duties for Umbrella...well, she'd decided what the Hell. At worst, she'd be so disappointed she'd have to go somewhere she knew _real_ fun was to be had. Thankfully she hadn't been, even though Spence's stamina hadn't proved to be up to the task of really sating the two women who'd literally thrown themselves at him.

She glanced across Spence to the other side of the light blue bed-the covers had been thrown back, the person who had been lying there had left. The ideogram under her left eye shifted as she rolled her eyes, wishing Alice had at least waited for her to wake up before leaving, even though she knew she had her reasons. Glancing around, Lianna took in the large dresser, the clothes cabinet, the wooden desk and chair, the high white-painted walls and decorative designs set into every ceiling corner. No Alice. She looked downwards at the thick, soft brown carpet underfoot. All of the clothes she remembered were there-bar Alice's one-piece bloody red dress, the one she saved for "special occasions". Well, that answered _that_.

She slipped out of the bed, not disturbing the snoring Spence at all, the movement revealing the Chinese dragon tattoo running around her left leg, tail at ankle head at hip, a trace of old times. Seeing a slightly torn creamy white shirt on the floor, Spence's, she picked it up and put it on, doing up most of the buttons just in case. She also retrieved a small black box with a silver switch from her own clothes, slipping it into the shirts breast pocket. As most men's shirts were, it was a little longer than necessary and baggy enough to absorb her figure. All she needed.

She paused, set herself right. This had to be done right, or she'd blind herself temporarily, which she didn't need right now. Thankfully, practice made perfect. She concentrated on her eyesight for what seemed like a split second but which was more like ten, closed her eyes and opened them again. _That_ was better.

The room had changed. She could see the heat of electrical current running through cables and circuitry in the walls, trace the warmth of the sunny day rising from the floor towards the ceiling, look at Spence and see the heat coursing through his body, trace the heat patterns as his heart pumped fresh blood around his body. She could see through walls, tell where the sun had struck and where it hadn't, hot or cold.

Most importantly, she could see the red heat trace of Alice where she'd been lying until recently on the bed, follow the footsteps and even the trail of fast-dissipating heat through the air. She could tell where Alice was going, now, away from Spence just to begin with. The woman hadn't been lying when she'd said that it was always fun while it lasted, then she felt the need to scrub herself raw. She wondered whether Spence had the brains to realise Alice was only sleeping with him because she'd read all of the books she really wanted to read and had no other constant male company. Probably not...

She shifted her eyesight back to normal, strode through the mansions extensive, massively decorated rooms, no expense spared to demonstrate just how hideously and insanely wealthy Umbrella Corp. was, following the path she knew Alice would have taken. It didn't take long before she came to the large shower rooms, where she could hear water running. Shrugging, she pressed the button on the black box, threw off Spence's shirt and walked over to the shower she knew Alice was in, pulling the curtain out of the way and stepping inside without pause to a raised eyebrow from Alice.

"You don't mind sharing, do you? There's something I want to talk to you privately about" said Lianna, stepping up to the showerhead and letting the water soak down her hair.

"With you? No. Spence would try to have sex with me so he's out, though. Is this really the place and time for a personal conversation? Especially...you know...here?" replied Alice, nodding at what both of them knew were CCTV cameras hidden everywhere, with microphones attached.

"You'd be surprised what perks the Regional Command of Racoon gets you... In fact, it gains us ten minutes of total privacy. You could kill Spence, butcher his body and hide the remains under floorboards. The only way Umbrella would find out inside that time is with a full Forensics search. However, what I have in mind is rather more interesting. Want me to go on?" asked Lianna.

"This is slightly surreal, but you're always welcome. Pass the shampoo? Thanks. So, you were saying?" replied Alice, rubbing the shampoo into her hair as the water poured down on them both.

"Let me do that... I trust you, so I'm going to tell you a secret. Only one other person knows what I'm about to tell you, which is how this _has_ to stay. You understand?" asked Lianna, massaging the shampoo into Alice's scalp. Alice sighed.

"Yes. This isn't going to be official business or unofficial pleasure, is it? Just tell me this doesn't come from Wesker and I'm all ears. He's a vicious, untrustworthy shit and you know it, Lianna. No offence" said Alice, relaxing into Lianna as the other woman's fingers dexterously worked her hair.

"I agree and, in fact, it comes from me, he's just a part of it. Tell me something: what do you, honestly, think of Umbrella Corp.? This goes no further, before you ask" asked Lianna.

Alice cocked an eyebrow. "Honestly and off the record? If I could, I'd kill every one of the Board of Directors and the President of the company with my bare hands. I'd line up every Scientist who's ever worked for Umbrella and shoot them in the stomach before leaving them to bleed out. I'd put William Birkin in a room full of the things he's created and smile as they cut him into small strips of meat while eating him alive. I'd put the evidence I don't have about everything Umbrella's ever _really_ done on the Internet under a big flashing sign reading "BASTARDS HERE!" Do you want me to go on?" said Alice.

"No, I hoped you'd say that, so it's a good thing we know each other well enough to be able to have established some real trust before now. Alice, I have reason to believe Umbrella has done far worse than just create monsters, mutants and abominations like the Tyrant. I suspect they've done much worse than gas thousands of Vietnamese civilians with a T-Virus variant during the War and then sent US troops in to fight them to gather combat data. I suspect they've even done worse than use Cambodia during Khmer Rouge control, Iraq, Russia and North Korea at various times as test sites. Ultimately, I think they have two goals in mind, neither of which you or I can ever see happen. Do I go on?" asked Lianna, intently.

"Lia, you're scaring me. What the Hell's worse than all _that_?" replied Alice, almost purring with pleasure as Lianna's hands worked up and down her back in a massage. Due to her talent, a bizarre secret so uncanny few even among the Umbrella hierarchy knew of it, Lianna gave massages like nobody else. She'd demonstrated the fact, to Alice and Spence, more than once before now.

"In 1991 Umbrella initiated a series of Biohazard Tests, using a weaponised form of the T-Virus as tank and missile loads employed by the Iraqi Army, particularly the Republican Guard, against Allied forces when NATO invaded Kuwait to push the Iraqi's out. That was the real reason the NATO troops often operated in full Bio war gear, why some of them have gotten sick since. It was also the reason the US Military scattered anti-missile launchers across the Middle East, particularly in Israel, as though they were a dime a dozen" Lianna began, her fingers expertly working their way across Alice's back and shoulders.

"That was the first time a full-scale theatre of conflict could be observed using modern technology to record the effects of the T-Virus on groups of people, soldiers or otherwise. It was also the first time field test data could be fed into computer models to analyse and adapt the set-up for greater future efficiency. Allied intelligence knew Saddam had something awful loaded, but they didn't know exactly what, so they tried to guard against everything they could think of. The people who got ill but didn't get infected, through some hideous stroke of luck, were diagnosed as suffering from Gulf War Syndrome. That was the beginning" said Lianna, shaking her head.

"You didn't see Allied tanks firing point-blank into crowds of people, running right over them or blowing supposedly empty buildings to hell on the news for a reason. You didn't see flamethrower units backed up by Special Forces Sniper units with aerial support and a creeping artillery barrage as forward cover going house to house in Kuwait. You didn't see the remnants of the SAS team sent in to take out Saddam and put an end to it. The only survivor of said unit is still completely insane and sedated up to his eyeballs in the loony bin in the UK. Am I getting through to you, Alice?" asked Lianna, quietly.

"Believe me, I'm scared your even telling me all of this. But again, what's worse?" asked Alice, quietly, so quietly Lianna almost didn't hear her.

"Project: Rebirth, or what would have been called _Lebensraum_ by a short, one-testicled madman once upon a very long time ago. Umbrella's Endgame, the end of life, civilisation, culture, society, history and life as we know it. Very simply, Umbrella kills the entire world, looks on safely from a hidden safe place while the few survivors are hunted down and butchered by Tyrant units or whatever else they can be bothered to use. It then rebuilds everything conforming to their ideas of order and necessity" said Lianna, pausing to almost sigh.

"Women would become breeding machines, insanity is to be expected as the norm, chaos would be expected everywhere as every rule and line dissolves when those of real control are dead. Humanity would be reborn as a Genetic freak led by lunatics out to destroy everything because safe and normal are boring. That's outcome one" said Lianna, before pausing to take a breath and putting her back to Alice. Alice automatically started doing Lianna's hair.

"Outcome two? The human race, whatever's left of it, looses all free will and becomes subject to those who made it that way, utterly. The ultimate "freedom", everything you are and could have been _totally_ at another's disposal. Intelligence does not apply, nor ability, not even sanity, you'd jump off a cliff or swim to the bottom of the ocean if ordered to. Do you want to see either of these things happen?" asked Lianna, looking around at Alice.

"NO! Hell, no... Look, lets try that again. What proposal did you have in mind for me?" asked Alice, her nerves betrayed by her voice. She knew Lianna was telling the truth, even if she didn't want to believe it. Alice's hands almost absently traced across Lianna's neck and back, ending up on her hips. Lianna wondered whether Alice even consciously realised she was holding her in an embrace.

"I came up with a way to get what we all want from Umbrella and stop them for good in the process. Wesker, me, you and an Agent who thinks she's working for someone else. Very simply, the Hive contains Samples, Vaccines and even Cures for everything Umbrella's ever created. William Birkin is working on a mutant strain he calls the G-Virus, which can be stolen if he succeeds, along with his research for future reference" said Lianna, pausing to smile at Alice.

"It's only a matter of time until there's a major Outbreak the way things are run around here, we both know that. So here's the plan" said Lianna, before pausing be sure she had it all straight.

"Wesker, as Captain of the Racoon City S.T.A.R.S., will make sure the S.T.A.R.S. are sent in to contain the Outbreak, creating as much of a hue and cry as he can in the process, getting everyone's attention. I, as Regional Security Director, will have to secure the city and area, particularly the Hive itself, of course. You, as the Hives Director of Security, will have to work closely with me to ensure everything comes off perfectly. Due to the Emergency situation, it would not be overly surprising if I had to use my extraordinary access to reroute massive funds and necessary Files to exceptional locations, no? Say, to a safe place? With the Files in media and government hands, even Umbrella wouldn't have the resources to come looking for us after we disappear in any case. Well?" asked Lianna.

Alice just stood still for a moment, then moved to stand in front of Lianna. After a long moment, she smiled. "Yes, damn your eyes. If you were a man, I'd kiss you" she said, softly, shifting to press their bodies close together, so close that Lianna could feel the heat of her body as Alice's breath tickled her throat.

"Do it anyway, I'm curious" replied Lianna, her hands drifting up over Alice's hips, arms, shoulders, neck and finally to the back of her head. Alice just leaned in, her hands tracing up over Lianna's ribs to her breasts. Their lips touched, tongues duelled as they pressed fully into each other...

_Shhhnnk _

Spence Parks, finally awake, pulled the shower curtain aside abruptly, to find both of his supposed conquests in each other's arms. Lianna and Alice later admitted to one another they would have given almost anything they owned for a camera to record the expression on Spence's face when he got a good look at the two of them...

/August 1st, 1998, Racoon City/

She sighed, shook her head and tried not to remember just how wrong things had gone not so long at all after that time. She could _still_ feel and taste Alice Abernathy's firm strawberry-tasting lips on her own even now, feel every line of the other woman's body pressed against and into hers, smell her sweet beech tree scent. Another slight to repay Umbrella one day, a nearly broken heart to mend. At least Wesker was still alive so far, thanks to Trent of all people...

Lianna Styx had almost been impressed by the fact that someone had actually managed to smuggle a bomb into Umbrella Headquarters, almost...but not quite. The reason was that _she_ hadn't been the one to do it, on top of which it displayed a serious security flaw in that whoever _had_ done it had gotten it past every standard security check.

Umbrella was so paranoid she could track anyone in the HQ building second to second using digital and CCTV cameras, learn everything about anyone who worked for the company ten seconds after accessing a computer and commit mass murder if she thought it necessary without possibility of consequences. The company had one of the most advanced computer systems in the _world_, its own Special Forces and Military on top of standard Security, on top of which were the extraordinary Agents like Harvest. It spared no expense securing the best security systems, even if it often failed to get the best staff.

Despite all that, somebody had gotten a bomb past them all. They'd even managed to hide away C4 Plastic Explosive, which had detonated with enough violence to shatter the Post Room utterly, possibly damaging the larger structure of the building. The two people who'd been working in the room were just charred fragments, bits and pieces of shattered and cooked flesh you could have held in your hand, all mixed in with drifting fragments of paper, card and shards of plastic, illuminated by the hole blown in the wall directly to the outside of the building. Metal filing cabinets had crumpled like compressed accordions into a width that would have fitted between doors and frames, while the force and heat of the detonation had dented the walls, ceiling and floor, cooking them all black with soot.

Impressive damage, given how compressed the envelope in question actually had been. It couldn't have held any more than a base charge, so it had to have been primed and set up by a professional to do this kind of damage. She'd have to kill whoever had done this when she found him, her or them, actually a shame. Skill like that demonstrated here was rare.

"I think that I'm going to have the person who did this flayed, blinded and crippled then thrown into a tank of raw sewage and left to rot. You?" said Cain, striding into view with an irritated expression on his face. He seemed perpetually irritated, which she actually found quite funny. It was almost his default state.

Major Timothy "Able" Cain was actually a lunatic of the first order in her opinion, a man of exceptional physical talent without the brains to realise he was too dumb to administer as well as fight. Except in combat, his leadership skills were so lacking only the fact his military mindset wouldn't let him admit such things were happening prevented him from noticing he was the laughing stock of people at Lianna's level. His administrative skills generally consisted of signing his name on documents or suggestions made by other people for purposes he barely understood, if he even did.

She could recall a Memo from Alice she'd received before it had been passed on to Cain, stating that the Security Card readers which locked and unlocked every door in Umbrella's Racoon facilities were not tamper proof and could be short-circuited, allowing anyone with the required skills free access and exit. All that would have been required to correct the situation was rewiring and added shielding that an electrician could have done in less than hour, she'd checked-Alice had too. But Cain, citing proven system efficiency and lack of staff complaint, had ruled out the change, deeming it an unnecessary cost as well as not being required.

It had taken Alice two minutes to short three doors and get in and out of a Max-Security area without setting off any alarms. It had taken Lianna one, but then she had unique skills. Either of them could have sneaked into Cain's quarters, killed him silently and left without being seen or heard by simply bypassing the existing set-up. Alice had stated she'd even been tempted... Well, Lianna had no doubt Cain would find out just how bad things could get for someone as "Able" as him without someone like her around to hold things together soon. Assuming the plan went off without any major hitches, that was. Assuming Wesker's contacts with HCF could and did deliver everything they said they would, including the soldiers and Agents...

"I was going to kneecap them and have them infected before forcing them to eat their own family, but we can use yours if you prefer. What did the engineers say? Are we safe here or do we need to evacuate?" said Lianna, looking around at the battered room again.

"The buildings larger structure is intact, no compromise of either the foundations, the supports or the walls. They have requested the closing off of the area ten metres in all directions, on this floor, the one above and below, as a precautionary measure, so I've set it in motion. Do we have any idea how this was done and who did it yet?" replied Cain, looking around the battered room again himself.

"No clue, the explosive and package were utterly vaporised, the staff who handled and saw it were in here when it went off. The techs say their sure it was a digital remote transmission that detonated it, but it was a two-second pulse which left no trail and anyone competent will have dumped the trigger with no traces by now. We're getting nothing from this place" said Lianna, suppressing a smile of admiration.

"Be glad this was our HQ which got hit, though, a strike like this against one of the branch offices in-city would have forced RCPD involvement, which would have reached the S.T.A.R.S. survivors eventually. I'd still like to look at the possibility of recruiting Jill Valentine before we kill the others, myself" she continued, well aware the only thing extending the lives of the S.T.A.R.S. survivors was the fact Trent had put a hold on the Execution order until Umbrella was sure exactly what the survivors did and did not know.

"I'll say it again: she'd require Brainwashing, Reprogramming and a Memory scrub before it could be seriously considered, which you refuse to contemplate. I agree completely that her skill base and experience would be extremely useful, but as things are she'd commit Suicide before listening to anything we have to say no matter what we offered her, even her fathers life and freedom. Unless you want to try sending Harvest to beat obedience into her. Stop going on about it or make a damn decision" replied Cain, sharply, glaring at Lianna.

Cain didn't have the force of will, intelligence or physical presence to so much as get Lianna's attention unless she was on the job, so his effective verbal warning slid off of her like water off a raincoat. "Maybe..." she replied, so softly that Cain barely heard her...

/July 21st, 1980, New York City/

She felt the heavy, thick fog formed by masses of alcohol still in her system, making her feel utterly sick but mercifully numb, long before she woke up. Her nose registered the stink-drenched sweat that told her every day, every time, just how much she'd had to drink. Far, far, far too much, but she didn't care, it was the only way to lock the voices, the feelings out of her head she knew really worked. Vodka, at least a bottle of it.

She could feel the trembling stop and start on the inside and outside, feeling the cravings starting up again, feel the pinprick marks in her elbows and forearms flaring up as she slowly regained consciousness, her body letting her know just how unhappy it was. She needed a Fix, a good one, soon, or she was going to loose it _again_-

A dry heave suddenly wracked her whole body. She choked, coughed, sat up in what she belatedly realised was her own bed, spat on the floor-and saw blood in the phlegm illuminated by streetlights through the windows, even as she started shaking uncontrollably. Every part of her body started moving on its own even as she was hit by shakes and shivers, she could taste bile in her throat...

She rolled out of bed with a heavy thud, staggered to her feet and managed a desperate sprint which took everything she had left, which just got her to the bathroom in time. She lunged forwards even as her legs gave way and stuck her head down the toilet pan as she threw up, then again, again, until she was dry heaving with nothing left to go, tasting blood in her throat, knowing she'd torn something again.

Her muscles felt like rotten rope, but she forced her body to cooperate even as she feebly tried to wipe the vomit from around her mouth, standing slowly but surely. Walking very slowly and carefully over to the sink, she ran some cold water and splashed it into her face, managed to swallow some, then hung onto the sinks edges with grim determination until the shakes passed. Once they had, she grabbed a flannel and angrily cleaned away the vomit, anger being the one thing she was good at feeling, let alone using, now. Once upon a time...

Flicking on the bathroom light, uncaring of the fact that the light backlit her to anyone looking through her apartment windows since she hadn't closed the curtains, she forced herself to look up and meet her own eyes in the mirror. Same as ever, since Dad, she didn't recognise the woman looking back at her.

Bloodshot dull dark brown eyes utterly devoid of life, passion and even intelligence looked back at her. Long, thick black hair was matted and knotted together in sweaty strands which she thought might take a pair of scissors to separate, let alone sort out. Sweat drenched her entire body, made her almost pale skin, touched by an olive colouring which spoke of her Serbian roots, gleam in the dull light like she was covered in oil or something. Her lips were thin and compressed, almost to the point of colourlessness, while despite everything she could do she couldn't fully suppress the shakes that she suffered from if she went too long without.

While she'd never have considered herself honestly beautiful, despite hard muscle, firm, lean lines, healthy curves and aristocratic features which tended to draw the eye, all of the parts were there-and they'd never failed to get her what she'd wanted. Now, though? She looked as though she'd slept on a rubbish dump after a late-night visit to Hell while high on the Heroin that had become her addiction of choice.

Nine out of ten people she knew wouldn't have gone anywhere near her in the NYPD, where she still worked despite everything, but the men-and women-she met in the clubs and undergrounds were far less choosy as long as you had a pulse and no diseases. The fact that, high and drunk, she'd do anything at all because she wouldn't know what she was doing only added to the allure for some. That, she'd found out the hard way more than once. She was lucky, very lucky, she knew, she hadn't ended up sold as a Sex Slave or worse given some of the places she'd discovered she'd been to, some of the people she now knew she'd met.

The worst memory, dim and indistinct though the shadowed recollections she had were, was what had led to the healed knife wounds on her wrists. An aborted Suicide attempt.

...Three weeks ago. It had been somewhere dark, desolate and otherwise deserted, an old airfield with a rusting metal aircraft hanger in the background. It had been a bare-handed brawl in a ring of people, at least forty, all of them betting on the outcome of a brutal no-holds-barred no rules or time limit fight between the champion and his challengers.

The champion was massive man almost seven feet tall, close to three feet across the shoulders, physically massive on a different scale to anything short of a heroic Greek statue, with a scarred face, hands, forearms and chest which spoke of a lifelong taste for massive violence, armed and unarmed. Bald as an egg and clean-shaven, he fought in steel-toed boots, worn tight jeans and nothing else. She guessed his age at forty, but he was so physically developed that the lack of any body hair as a marker made it hard to tell.

The challenger was anyone stupid enough to think they could fight him and win. Five men had fought him, one after the other, the prize being a reputation even the Police wouldn't ignore, the kind of "street cred" that made people cross the road to avoid getting in your way and the pick of any women you wanted in various clubs. Drugs and drink in copious amounts were a given.

He'd dismantled all five, broken arms, legs, ribs, taken one's eyes, shattered every finger on another, punched out all of the teeth in the mouths of two. One had been left a cripple, face pulverised, left arm hanging permanently limp, broken in six places. The champions hands had been covered in blood, he'd been laughing so loudly it had annoyed her, even high on drugs like she had been... So she'd stepped up herself and challenged him.

Such a total silence had fallen at the challenge it couldn't have been more complete if the whole world had died in an instant. Everyone had gone silent-except for the champion, who'd laughed so hard he'd ended up doubled over straining to breathe. He'd said that if he won, he got to have her any way he wanted her, wherever and whenever. She'd agreed so simply and quickly it had made him blink-then broken his nose with her first punch.

He'd gone crazy, howling and shouting in fury, using every one of the considerable skills at his disposal to break her in half, make her weep, beg, cry, beg for mercy, surrender to him broken and half dead. He'd tried anything and everything he knew on her.

He hadn't even touched her, not once. She knew where he was going before he moved, what he was thinking, where every vital spot would be and precisely when and how to strike, despite her near-total lack of unarmed combat training. She'd been in his head and he'd _never_ stood a chance...

By the end of it she'd broken most of the bones in his body, left him bleeding out of both nostrils, both ears and the mouth, put almost all of his teeth out on the ground in front of him and left almost his entire body a blue-black hideous bruise, leaving him in so much pain he'd been unable to move. Muscles had been crushed, joints dislocated. She'd kicked him in the head so hard his whole body had started shaking, bloody drool running out his mouth...

Some time later, she'd discovered his injuries had been so severe he would _never_ fully recover from them. He was incapable of looking after himself, only had full use of one arm, couldn't walk and had such severe brain damage he'd regressed psychologically to the age of fifteen, apparently when he'd started fighting. According to every Psychiatrist who'd evaluated him, he was trapped inside his own mind as a result of the brain damage combined with a Psychotic Break the terrible beating which had broken his body and mind had triggered.

On learning all of the details, she'd calmly run a hot bath, climbed in, slit her wrists and gone to sleep, hoping not to wake up. She was no monster, she was rationally incapable of anything like what she'd done while out of her mind-but she'd woken up an hour later and, full of self-loathing but, in the very end, not wanting to die, she'd dragged herself out of the bath, bandaged her wrists and gone to the Emergency Room. A nurse who owed her a favour had patched her up and not filed a report, so the secret of what she'd done stayed with her...

She bunched up a fist and punched the mirror so hard she heard as well as felt her knuckles crack, blood tearing loose of her hand as the shards of glass shaken out, jagged-edged and razor sharp, lacerated her fingers and knuckles deeply, cutting open half of her right hand. She didn't care, pain was good. Drawing her hand back, she saw a sliver of glass was stuck in the meat between her knuckles so she gripped it with her teeth and pulled it out, tasting her own blood as she did. She spat the glass into the sink, where it joined other shards and drops of red blood splattering from her hand.

Gritting her teeth, she put her wounded hand under the cold tap and put it full on, numbing the pain quickly and washing away the worst of the blood. Some deep cuts but she'd missed all of the veins, small favour. She splashed the cold water in her face, but it did little to wake her up more or clear the fog in her head. She could still feel the terribly satisfying, horrible crack of bone snapping and cracking under the impact of her fists and feet, sense the splatter of blood covering her face as it exploded from his smashed and pulped lips...

She grabbed a hairbrush and dragged it through her hair, tearing out strands as she forced some of the snarls and tangles into a very remote kind of order. Hissing with annoyance and anger, at nothing and everything, she stepped over to the shower cubicle and turned on the shower, ice cold. That _did_ wake her up and clear her head, if only for a few seconds...

...In a flash, she glimpsed her younger sisters body, alone in the forest when she'd been found, bloody and naked, almost pale white from the cold and loss of blood, throat cut, belly a bloody ruin, massive injuries visible everywhere nobody should have to look. Rape had just been the beginning, her sister had been _fourteen_ years old. She _should_ have died...

Jovana realised that she'd put both hands over her face instinctively, as she always did when she thought of that, trying to block out the horror somehow. On that day she'd known Hell was real. On that day, her younger sister had met the Devil.

She almost smiled at what she recalled doing later. When she'd tracked down the man responsible, a serial attacker as it turned out, she'd staked him out, cut his hands and feet off, applied tourniquets to make sure he didn't bleed to death quickly-then lit a fire in his belly, as well as one under his head. That done, she'd sat back and smoked most of a box of cigarettes while enjoying the pain, the screams, every bit of the suffering. Normally, she couldn't have done anything like that. Normally. For what he'd done to her sister? She'd have followed him into the worst place on earth and died twice just for the chance of setting matters straight, the _right_ way.

"Huh...? Jovana, that you? What are you doing awake?" came a sleepy male voice from her bed, one she barely recognised. She'd actually forgotten she had company, not the first time that had happened. The only time it had been a problem, of course, had been when she'd come too to find a man she didn't know having sex with her in a street. She'd cracked his skull open on a wall throwing him off in an almost demented rage, only to find the injury had proved lethal. Luckily, for her, they'd been in a place nobody looked too hard for anything, leaving her to dump the corpse into the storm drains safely, where it would be found too rotten to identify cause of death possibly weeks later. Not the first time she'd done _that_, either...

She heard her companion yawn, then the sheets of the bed rustled as he got up himself and padded into the bathroom behind her. She still had her head under the shower, the water tracing down over her face, shoulders, chest and back, dulling all sound around her, but she didn't much care what he said or did anyway. Anyone desperate enough to go to bed with a drug addict alcoholic who smoked like a chimney, who wasn't bothered if it was a man or a woman ultimately, did not deserve even her attention, let alone her respect. She'd taken money for the night before now, more than likely this would be more of the same.

She sensed him glance at the shattered mirror, imagining the wince of pain as he realised what that had to have done to her fist, then he stared at it for a long time as he noticed the blood. His eyes tracked the trail of droplets of blood across the floor as it leaked from her clenched fist to the floor, then she heard a deep sigh. Christ, she didn't want or need his pity...

"Jovana Kasica, would you please tell me why you're so intent on mutilating yourself?" he said, loudly enough that she heard him clearly even over the water. She ignored him, stepped into the shower properly and leant against the wall, arms extended, hands flat on the tiles. She hoped he'd take the hint and leave-he didn't.

"Jovana...do _not_ try and duck me. I didn't fight my way right through four tours of Vietnam, watch my friends die with their guts in their hands screaming and see things that will haunt me through to my dying day just to come back home and find people more hell-bent on self-destruction here than we were over there. If you need to talk to someone about it, if you need to _do_ something about it, I _can_ help. I promise you, no matter what, I'll have seen and heard worse" said the man, still determinedly speaking loud enough that he knew she could hear him over the driving water pounding down on her.

He was persistent, she had to give him that. But, for all the ugly things he'd seen, he'd never had to look inside the mind and feel what the victims of the crimes she investigated had felt in the moments before they'd died. She could read minds, she knew that, even in such a limited fashion that she had no real control over the ability. Just like she was never sure if she was sensing her own emotions or those of someone nearby, which had proven far more than just disturbing on occasion.

She also knew, for a fact, something she'd never, ever wanted to know: she'd not just seen things humans weren't supposed to see, she knew where to find the Abyss and, far worse, where it lead. Hell was just the beginning, the young man had no idea just what the true extent of human madness could lead to and create.

She finally looked up and around at him, taking in his crew-cut brown hair, light blue eyes and hard-muscled frame. He was a little less than six feet tall and built like a weightlifter who'd turned to running and jumping to stay in shape. Hard and sharp-edged, poised ready for action with the forward-leaning stance of a man used to carrying a heavy pack on his back, she'd have guessed he was a soldier even if he hadn't told her. About thirty years old, to have served four Tours in 'Nam he had to have joined up young, which meant career soldier.

His survival also meant a good soldier, since luck never lasted in Vietnam based on the stories of Veteran's she'd met over the years since she'd become a Cop in '77. She frequented Veteran's bars more often than not, the damaged survivors she always met there were among very few people who could really understand her.

"What's your name, soldier?" she asked, slowly, even as her mind registered the fact that he was probably the first person she'd slept with in weeks she'd actually taken a good look at, let alone asked the name of. _Christ_...

"Ian William's, pleased to meet you at last. I should have a look at that hand, the last thing you need is a wound like that getting infected" said Ian, with a smile.

"Ian...you're talking to a naked woman, in the shower, who you have just slept with. This is not a way to start any conversation, believe me. Apart from that...I've been hurt before, worse than this. I know when I need to worry, this just means a few new scars. Now, why are you still here? This is just a bit of fun and we should both know that, you aren't staying overnight" said Jovana, pointedly.

"I'll leave when you answer my question, then, Jo. When can we meet up again? I was serious when I said you can talk to me, you know" replied Ian, leaning against the doorframe, grinning at the view as Jovana forced her fingers through her hair, ripping the strands apart.

She almost froze when he asked her the question, but instead turned sharply out of the shower, marched over to him and simply stared straight at him. Very slowly, she reached out her right hand and gently caressed his left cheek-then ripped her fingernails through the skin into the flesh even as he started to relax into her hand. He howled in pain, lurched backwards and fell over trying to get away from her. She kicked him in the balls for good measure, marched into the kitchen and grabbed a large kitchen knife, getting back before he could recover his feet. His eyes went wide as the knife arced down, he thought he was dead-

Blood gouted for a moment out of the shallow cut right across his belly, then she dropped the knife in such a way that the blade sank into the floor, holding it upright, less than an inch away from his ear. Blood trickled down the knifes blade even as he slowly turned to see it, then even more slowly turned back to look at her. Her teeth glinted white in the streetlight as she grinned at him, her face a deaths-head rictus still clothed by skin, flesh, muscle, eyes and hair.

"Ian Williams. I'll say this once, clearly, so you cannot misunderstand me. You'll _never_ know me, or what I do, or why. Now pay me-and _get out of my HOME!_" Jovana actually shouted, her voice almost rising to a shriek on the last word.

White-faced and trembling, Ian grabbed his trousers, shirt and shoes, slipping into his shorts fast, pulling on his trousers as he went out the door. He unrolled two notes and threw them at her as he ran out, slamming the door behind him-both 20 dollar bills. She waited until she was sure he was gone then, ignoring the blood still seeping down her injured hand, she sat down on her bed, put her head in her hands and started to cry.

She'd have gotten down on her knees and Prayed for help, divine assistance even, but she hadn't believed in any God since she was twelve years old and her..."abilities" had first manifested, driving a fragile child to the very brink time and time again. A loving God could never, _would_ never do something like this to a good Christian girl, so she had nothing to say to the bastard who'd made her this way. The only person who could help her was she herself-and what a fine job she was doing so far. She was trapped on the road to Hell and couldn't get off, anyone who even tried to help her would just get hurt-or worse.

_...For God is good..._

_...God is great..._

_...But he's not welcome here..._

/August 1st, 1998, Racoon City/

Jovana walked out of the interrogation room without even bothering to acknowledge Trent, in the booth watching through one-way glass, strode all the way to the floor canteen without stopping and threw open the door so hard she almost took it off its hinges. The canteen was plain, grey-painted walls, soft brown carpet, no windows and the hum of air conditioning as the only sound, but she didn't need anything else. A small kitchen was open all hours, two vending machines serving food and a third serving drinks were lined up against one wall while chairs and tables were almost casually scattered around the room, cushioned dark-blue plastic chairs and solid, flat tables providing all of the necessities.

She paused a minute on entering, grinding her teeth, then turned sharply on her heel and slammed the drinks machine so hard with the heel of her hand it rocked backwards and forwards on its skids. The thump of it hitting the wall echoed around the room for long seconds, then she hissed a Serbian swearword she hadn't used since her first life ended in '81, turning around again and kicking a chair halfway across the room.

She'd noticed the two staff members in the room, of course, as well as the two kitchen staff, all of whom were just staring at her now. One of the staff members, a young woman, looked openly scared, which was a reaction Jovana got a lot. Again, the name "Harvest" was hers for a reason. She heard the door open again but didn't bother looking behind herself, she knew who it was.

"Give us the room" called out Trent's firm, calm voice, everything about the man making clear that, as usual, he was not only in control but the reason all of your problems were over now. There was as good a reason he'd been employed by Umbrella as the companies top trouble-shooter for the past six months as there was for her being known as Harvest. Both of them were..._gifted_ in their particular disciplines.

The other people in the canteen left quickly, even though there was no question that none of them knew Trent or her. One thing learnt at Umbrella corp. early on, by anyone who survived that long, was to _never_ question anyone who spoke with authority. If you did, if you ever woke up again it would be on the inside of a stasis tank while they decided on just what they were actually going to do to you. Jovana's unique physical appearance just added to the sense of anyone who looked at her that she was not someone to be ignored, ever. Trent just had to look at someone to get that across.

"Lets start with the obvious: after Wellesberg Castle, I do _not_ need another lecture about terrorising the staff and the hired help" said Jovana, referring to the last time she and Trent had met like this. Germany, three months ago, an old castle in the south abandoned since the Nazi's killed the owners and the heirs in a Concentration Camp during World War II.

She'd been called in to deal with an Outbreak after a containment failure with a stasis tube had seen a Licker break loose and infect half the security staff even while it ate most of the research staff. Alfred Spencer, President of Umbrella Corp., had personally ordered her there after shooting the messenger in the head when he'd been brought news of the disaster, brought to HQ's attention by a garbled distress call.

She'd assembled her team, gone in and cleaned up. Then Trent had arrived, assembled the survivors and told them they were all now Test Subjects as a result of their failure before they were dragged out, kicking and screaming, by large armed men. She and he had then decided on precisely how to deal with the situation, for both inside and outside enquiries, since she was the senior Black Umbrella Op on-site at the time.

Much as she hated to admit it she'd enjoyed tossing ideas and plans back and forth with him, appreciated the way his hard, cold intellectual approach to dealing with the situation both complimented and contrasted with her ruthlessly ultra-violent approach. Both worked, but she'd come to be of the opinion they were better together than apart. She'd even found herself looking forwards to seeing Trent again...

"Why would I? It gets the right results when applied with discipline, or when simply applied hard if complimented by the addition of someone like me. That's not the issue here, however, Alice Abernathy is. We need to be certain of what we heard, so let's take it from the top. What do you think?" asked Trent, pulling out a seat for her to sit on at one of the tables then sitting down in a second chair himself.

She paused for a moment, then grabbed a bottle of orange-flavour Lucozade for herself and a small bottle of water for Trent. She knew he didn't drink alcohol or soft drinks, just like she knew it wasn't because he was a health nut, they'd gotten that far personally. He only drank water, along with the very rare small glass of wine, because the best way to be absolutely focused and clear-headed at all times was to have no distractions. He had a fortified apartment in New York where he went to relax, the only place she was reasonably certain he let his guard down. Maybe one day she'd find out?

"It makes far too much sense to be a lie, even given the fact I know its true. Alice would have known about the Level Four defence system being active, but if the Hives defences nailed her she would have suffered Amnesia for at least six hours unless they had the antidote. They didn't, I know that much, so we can confirm that part of it. Spence Parks? I never met the man except for brushing past him on occasion, but he's your typical Alpha male stereotype ex-Cop. Believes the world owes him a favour and anything in a skirt needs a good "seeing-to", meaning Alice meant nothing to him really. If he got an offer from the outside we might not have known about it, plus he's stupid enough to have believed we'd forget about the Hive and who did what once he had his money" said Jovana, sitting down beside Trent and handing him his drink.

"I agree so far. This woman, Lisa Addison, though? Was this man, her brother Matt, honestly so naïve as to truly believe she could possibly have succeeded in her mission without inside help? Images and flashes of data are not remotely proof, even with a photographic memory. If Alice hadn't picked up on what she was doing before Security did they'd have taken her to pieces to get everything she knew out of her. Then, well...no more need be said. Idiot man, even if desperation does drive people to occasional acts of madness" said Trent, shaking his head slowly as he opened his drink and took a sip of water.

"Too true, although these people will never see it that way. That's why were here, of course" replied Jovana, throwing back a swallow of Lucozade. She looked straight at Trent, took another swallow and smiled.

"Nothing which can't be handled, counter-insurgency is Cain's job so I'll pass the Intel off to him. Now, what about the S.T.A.R.S. survivors? While they exist, they're potential threats and you know it. When are you going to lift your Stay on the Kill Order, precisely?" asked Jovana.

"When Lianna Styx is done, since she asked me to give her until tomorrow morning to try one last time to accomplish something she's been working on for a while" replied Trent, shaking his head. Jovana knew that look, he didn't think much of whatever Lianna had in mind. That was _never_ a good sign.

"That's your call, so I can only voice an opinion that it's stupid as an option. With One and his entire team down, for certain now, at least we've tied off that loose end. The Addison's are dealt with, too, since Matt is currently being rewired physically and mentally upstairs. We can't easily do much about the situation in the forests and mountains just yet. Have you noticed that we keep coming back to the S.T.A.R.S. survivors as the only remaining problem we're directly capable of dealing with, Trent? I'm starting to think that I'm missing something here. If Lianna's so determined to deal with some part of the S.T.A.R.S. situation she should get on with it, or I'll have to have words with her. You?" said Jovana.

"I have to think of the bigger picture, which presents me with a formidable problem. First of all, I'm quite sure your capable of getting into and out of the Hive, but accessing the Red Queen's mainframe and downloading anything at all is going to be almost impossible since Kaplan EMP'ed the core. At best it will take a considerable amount of time and, let's not forget, you will be dealing with 500 Zombies and an unknown number of BOW creations as well as surgical theories. Since your not immortal, that makes me concerned" said Trent, pausing to sip his water.

"Second, you are mistake in your belief that removing the S.T.A.R.S. will remove the threat to Umbrella. The threat started twice, as a point of interest, the Hive incident simply occurred first. We have reliable reports of a new form of BOW, formed entirely of Leeches, claiming to be the deceased James Marcus resurrected as a result of T-Virus research before his death. He, or it, was spotted at the Spencer Mansion just before containment failure, near the Aurora Express just before it was attacked and, finally, at the White Umbrella training facility not long before it was destroyed" continued Trent, pausing to give her a pointed glance. She'd met James Marcus twice, a lifetime ago-literally. She knew what he'd been like...

"Lianna's report is very clear in stating that Rebecca Chambers, one of the surviving S.T.A.R.S., was at the White Umbrella facility in the company of a man believed to be a former soldier and War Criminal called Billy Coen. She says they managed to destroy the BOW before escaping the base, after which Coen disappeared. Almost a shame, the Military Police were bringing him to our training facility anyway for recruitment. The new BOW, though, creates a strong possibility of further unknown mutations out there, which is very bad" continued Trent, shaking his head before sipping his water again and sitting back.

"Third, if I'd had my way we _would_ have firebombed the Arklay Mountains and the forests when Lianna requested it after the loss of the White Umbrella facility. Now I think were too little, too late, a stopgap measure at best. The cannibal attacks are only the most evident illustration of the truth, the fact that the Virus is already in Racoon City and, in all likelihood, is making its way up the food chain through the sewers and water supply" said Trent, taking a large swallow of water as he spoke.

"Jovana, the city is already gone. It's only a matter of time now. Don't make long-term plans, get out while you can is my only advice" said Trent, placing the bottle of water on the table and steepling his fingers in front of his face.

"To summarise, Umbrella is going to loose Racoon City, every facility around it and every resource connected to it. Its too late to put a stop to it, I've seen CCTV footage of Zombie attacks on citizens who've gone to hospital for treatment afterwards if they survived only for them to end up attacking medical staff. Individuals have pictorial proof of the attacks, publicly and privately. The RCPD is dealing with an increasing number of riot and domestic distress calls which Chief Iron's is only going to able to suppress the details of for maybe another week, less if they continue to escalate. In too little time to consider, the entire city will be a necropolis, this is fact. As for the bigger picture? I'm thinking nuclear power station meltdown, what do you think?" asked Trent.

"I think 100,000 people being flash-fried will raise too many eyebrows, so it's a good thing Umbrella has the money to burn them off if they reach too near the fire. What about people the S.T.A.R.S. might have been talking too? The media? These things need to be kept on a tight leash" replied Jovana, leaning towards Trent slightly, a fact he didn't miss.

"We own the media in the city. If we told them to print pictures and stories stating that Elvis was abducted by aliens and is recently back, now planning a new world tour? They'd have to print it or their homes would burn down with their families inside. As for people who've listened to them? The only one of any concern is a police Lieutenant called Amber Bernstein" said Trent, sighing.

"Without a shred of proof its all hearsay, but she was the mistress of Joseph Frost from the S.T.A.R.S., who died near the Spencer Mansion. More importantly, she's known Jill Valentine almost her whole life. She'd believe Valentine if she said she could walk through walls, on top of which Bernstein's been spending a lot of time with the S.T.A.R.S. since the Spencer Mansion incident. Another problem to be resolved" continued Trent, shaking his head and taking another sip of water.

"So she's still alive because...what? She's blonde, so nobody will take her seriously?" replied Jovana, appreciating Trent's effort to try and lighten the mood a little.

"Hardly, more because staking out her apartment and tapping her communications gives us another means of tracking the S.T.A.R.S., which can be difficult to do. You know Chris Redfield has a Military history? Well, I checked and he was only tapped for Black Ops once, on top of which he's _never_ had any official or unofficial espionage or guerrilla warfare training. Despite this, he's repeatedly lost our tracking teams, spotted our tails, led us on wild goose chases across half the city and dealt with an Agent sent to bring him in for interrogation so quickly and quietly, with his bare hands, nobody noticed him do it on a crowded street. They, or he, might have backup we know nothing about" added Trent, finishing off his water.

"I love this job sometimes, that one goes back to Lianna...Trent, can I ask you something? Personally?" asked Jovana, looking across at Trent almost hopefully.

"Depends what it is. Go on" replied Trent, intrigued despite himself.

One of her hands settled atop his, even as she looked him straight in the eyes. "Are you single at the minute?" asked Jovana, very simply.

Trent breathed in sharply, then shook his head. He hadn't expected _that_.

"...No...I mean, yes, I'm single, nobody special at the moment... Jovana, this is a _really_ bad idea. You don't know me at _all_" replied Trent, even though he made no attempt to free his hand from where it was under hers.

"Good, it adds mystery. I'm good at keeping secrets. So, that's a "Yes" then? BOW or not?" asked Jovana, staring hopefully at Trent even as he just sat and stared at her.

"...I have to ask something first. I knew about Lianna and Alice, there were rumours of a ménage a trois going on at the Spencer Mansion for weeks before the Incident and Lianna was the only one everyone knew made regular visits up there. Rumours which Cain looked into because he likes to think he can control his people, right down to every detail of their personal lives if it comes to it, but he never found out for certain because Lianna always knew when she was being watched. Did you know that?" asked Trent.

"Please. I'm a Black Umbrella BOW, my job is assassination and ultraviolence where any problems Umbrella has are concerned. I'd only know if somebody _told_ me-so I did, of course. Lianna's an intelligent adult and possibly more capable than me, so I say good for her. Plus, Alice would have been a real catch if _she_ was a _he_, so Lianna's lucky I didn't give her any competition. Is that really your question?" replied Jovana, with a snort.

She'd failed to mention the fact she knew Alice had been holding something back about Lianna for a very good reason, having caught a glimpse of what it was in the drug-addled Alice's mind. She liked Lianna far more than any other Umbrella Agent she'd come across, bar Alice, but also admired Lianna's skill given her evident plan to escape from Umbrella once and for all. If Alice got out alive somehow, if Lianna did too, maybe the two women would have a chance together. Or maybe _not_. This _was_ Umbrella Corporation.

"No, that's not the question. My question is, are you so sure you're past what you and Rain Ocampo were to each other? I'm not Cain, Jovana, remember that?" said Trent.

The sudden silence in the room could have been heard on the other side of the world. Jovana couldn't have been more shocked if Trent had told her she actually hadn't lost fifteen years of her life to the T-Virus. She couldn't have been more stunned if she'd just witnessed the end of the world. _How...?_

"...That's...Trent, nobody knows about that, not even _you_-or... How the Hell...?" she managed, slowly.

"I'm Umbrella's top trouble-shooter, remember? It's my job to know everything that might be a problem and have a strategy for dealing with it. Did you think an unauthorised relationship between a BOW assassin like you and a UBCS soldier like Rain would just slip under the radar because you were careful to only meet where Umbrella had no surveillance and Agents? I let it run because I believed that the two of you were good for each other, I still believe that. My question again: are you trying to just transfer from her to me because you want another anchor against your real life? That role, I have _no_ interest in filling" said Trent, bluntly.

She just looked straight at him and smiled. It came remarkably easily, for some reason.

"Good, because Rain was just a safe place to be when I needed one. Without her I simply wouldn't _be_ here, no questions asked. I'm looking for something _real_ now. _Believe_ me when I say that. Still not interested?" she replied, squeezing his hand gently.

This time, he smiled back. A look of some real interest appeared in his eyes.

"Better. Lets finish off in Racoon first, then, just maybe, we can see where the winds take us..." he said, taking her hand in his properly.

/February 21st, 1984, Manhattan Island, New York, USA/

"_...For your eyes only, can see me through the night..._" sang the young woman, dancing along the pavement as she approached her home, long legs easily propelling her across cracks and bumps which threatened to trip her up. "_...For your eyes only, I never need to hide. You can see so much in me, so much in me that's new. I never felt until I looked at you..._" she continued, melodic voice adding an easy depth to the words. She was a decent singer, no master class or even anything close, she well knew that, but she also knew just how best to use what she had. Her mother had taught her that.

Her ponytail swung behind her as she danced, wide smile lighting up her face, eyes laughing in bright colour as the sun shone down on her. Her schoolbag swung from over her left shoulder, brown against the light blue of her blouse, while the darker blue skirt and white shoes she wore made her seem so bright and alive that she wanted to laugh out loud.

It was a bright, warm and perfect cloudless summer day, the kind you always wanted to be alive and awake to know. Serena Liparti knew everything was perfect, the golden glow of the sun, the slight whisper of a breeze on her skin just enough to keep her from getting too warm. Everything, all that she needed.

Her mother would be at home waiting for her, probably with the coffee and biscuits she always seemed to have ready for a sit-down and bit of maternal guidance. She always enjoyed those sit-down chats, not that she'd ever admit as much to her mother. She even enjoyed her mothers affectionate ruffling of her hair, every time, but she kept trying to convince herself that was because she was really still just a kid inside, a child who longed to be cuddled by her mother. Hell, she was only 16, it wasn't so unrealistic, right?

"_...For your eyes only, only for you...You'll see what no one else can see and now I'm breaking free...For your eyes only, only for you...The love I know you need in me, the fantasy you've freed in me...Only for you, only for you..._" Serena continued singing, making her way through the theme song from the film she'd enjoyed so much.

She almost wanted to grow up to be a female James Bond every time she watched a Bond film, if there even was such a thing. Having her wicked way with any number of handsome willing men across countries and over continents, fighting the good fight in the shadows with a smart quip and a fast fist, a gun always at the ready. Often using nothing more than her wits to bedazzle and confuse the enemy before making off with the prize.

But...in fact, she preferred the character of Melina Havelock, Greek tycoons daughter turned vengeful assassin, killer of her parents killer and ally of Bond. Silent and deadly with a crossbow, willing and able to do what it took. If it hadn't been for the fact she eventually melted and fell into Bond's arms, Serena would have really liked her.

She was dancing through the streets, houses on both sides of the medium-wealth range, two storey solid structures with little ornamentation, lots of windows and solid-looking doors. Green lawns surrounded the front of most, where young children sometimes played, pets could be found and sprinkler systems kept the sun from burning away the grass. A big golden dog lying sunning itself on one front lawn opened its eyes at her singing, saw her and bounded to its feet, running over her and jumping up to place its paws on her chest so hard it almost knocked her over.

It was a Golden Retriever named Sam, a very friendly slobbery dog that always tried to lick her face with a huge pink tongue since she never failed to stop and make a fuss of him. She did laugh at his enthusiastic approach, scratched his head and chest, cuffed his ears gently and fed him the biscuit she always carried for him. He slobbered his tongue across her face, pushed against her chest again then trotted off after sniffing her legs, evidently satisfied. She blew him a kiss and kept going. Her street, _Anders Lane_, was just ahead.

"_...For your eyes only, the nights are never cold...You really know me, that's all I need to know...Maybe I'm an open book because I know your mine...But you won't need to read between the lines..._" Serena continued, even as she turned down her street into sight of home. A yellow-painted house with a red tile roof structure, two storeys like the rest. Windows allowed one to see the basic furniture, most of it good quality if second hand, the old TV. and the comfortable setting of dark-painted walls, thick creamy carpet. A six-foot wooden fence and gate sealed off the rear of the property, a smaller back garden where her father kept his shed and tools. It wasn't much, but it was what they had and she loved it.

Her parents were far from rich, her father a soldier, her mother a nurse, but they managed fine. By being together, as much as anything, they were an honest family. She knew it was her mother who kept them that way, though, she was the glue that held them together as well as the Soul of the family.

She could see her mother now in her minds eye, 39 years young, a half-caste Indian and Caucasian mix with skin a touch darker than Serena's own. Hair dark as the dead of night, almost eerie grey eyes shining in a face of remarkable beauty, dressed in the smart, bright clothes she liked, always smiling and laughing. Smart in a brainy way, her mother. Serena's father had often told her, in confidence, that the only reason her mother, Selina Abjas-Liparti, hadn't become a Scientist, Lawyer or similar high-earning high-profile person was the fact that the USA still wasn't ready, no matter what anyone said, for a mixed-race woman with a mind of her own to get anyone's attention, let alone make a name for herself.

She thought she understood that, but she did history in school and that taught her more than she sometimes wanted to know. She was her mother's daughter and she put her mind to use, she knew what it meant when they were told that white people were "superior" according to history itself. What most people didn't realise was just how easy it was to see only what you wanted to see in the past, facts which had nothing to do with the truth.

Her father had taught her that powerful men had, in years long past, made sure that certain things were remembered while others were forgotten, allowing them to succeed in writing atrocities out of history itself. He knew they'd done it, because he'd lived through things never mentioned anywhere himself. She believed him.

"_...For your eyes only, only for you...You see what no one else can see and now I'm breaking free...For your eyes only, only for you...The passions that collide in me, the wild, abandoned side of me...Only for you, For Your Eyes Only..._" she sang, completing the song just as she came up to the front of her own home. Why was that film in particular her favourite Bond movie? Well, she liked the idea of some deep-hidden secret that could only be shared with the love of your life, she supposed.

That was definitely _not_ Paul Yeager, the hunky college freshman she'd sort-of been seeing for a few weeks now. Tall, blonde, blue eyed-like her-strikingly handsome and with the body of a God, he'd made straight for her on first sight and refused to take no for an answer. At first she'd been confused, then flattered, then confused again. People like him had the choice of anyone they wanted with a trust fund, his looks and a Senator Daddy, while people tended to step around mixed-race people like her. But, she'd finally thought, he'd decided that a beautiful woman was worth the risk and they'dgoneout a few times, even managed a movie a couple of times.

That had been before he'd put a hand on her leg over her skirt in the darkness of the cinema, then squeezed, almost making her jump as his fingers pressed into hard muscle. Then he'd worked his way up one-handed, over her hip, by her side, over her ribs onto a breast, where he'd stopped for a quick feel-making her very uncomfortable-then onto the back of her head, after which he'd pulled her up into a kiss.

She was 5,11, an Amazon with the physique to match. He was six foot square and built like a wrestler, so pulling her up into a kiss hadn't been easy-but he'd managed it. Unfortunately, while it had been her first real kiss-and she had tried to ignore the fact due to lack of experience-it had been a truly terrible kiss.

That had been _before_ both of his hands had moved to the front of her blouse and started to open it by undoing the buttons from collar down. She'd almost yelled aloud at him, then grabbed his hands and forced him to stop.

He'd tried to use his superior physical strength to force the issue, but her father had taught her restraint holds used by the Marines on dangerous prisoners and his hands hadn't even moved. Then he'd sworn at her, called her an ungrateful bitch, jerked his hands back hard to free them and tried to simply rip her shirt off-at which point she'd cold-cocked him with a straight-arm punch coming right from her shoulder. She'd added a well-aimed knee to the groin of considerable force as he'd collapsed, unconscious before he even fell out of his seat to the floor with a thump. He'd ruined the movie for her, so she'd simply got up and left.

She'd been stupid to believe anyone like him would have ever considered her a catch, he'd wanted to taste the forbidden fruit and that was it. If he wanted that, there were women who took money for such services. Something he wasn't lacking in, unlike brains.

She walked up to the front door of her home, stopped and frowned. Her mother was always there to open the door for her, they both knew they had little time before her father got back from collecting her nine-year-old brother from school. Where could she be? She worked night shifts at the Hospital so she was always there for her children morning and early evening, which meant there was no way she wouldn't be around.

"Mum?" Serena called out aloud, to no answer from anything, only singing birds somewhere far off even supplying any ambient sound. That was when she realised there was something wrong, something terribly wrong. Her mother _never_ failed to appear when one of her children called out for her, not ever. Her father would have told her somehow if there was some complication she should have known about, he was a very resourceful man, so that wasn't it. What _was_ it, then? She really needed to know.

She would only realise years later, during her first taste of violent conflict in the first Gulf War, that she could pinpoint the exact moment she stopped thinking of her childhood home as home, as a safe place where she and her family had once lived. The end moment came when she realised she had to know what had happened to her mother.

"_Mum_?" she called out again, louder, walking over to the fence gate slowly, looking around, up and down, into every window for any sign of movement. There was none, which was very odd. Where could she be? What would she have to do that would keep her from her daughter like this?

The gate was latched shut, but Serena was almost preternaturally physically skilful and slipped over the gate without using her hands, a quick jump, roll and twist sliding her over easily. That was when she first saw that something was wrong. The back door was open, only it was _never_ left open with her brother, still a child, in the house. Worse, it was hanging from only one hinge and the glass pane that formed most of the top half was damaged, cracked as though it had been hit with a rock.

Feeling something cold settle in her guts, Serena reached into her schoolbag and pulled out the Billy Club she used to defend herself from anyone who was stupid enough to come at her armed, holding it firm in her hand. Steady on her feet, moving slowly and carefully, she stepped inside-and wished she hadn't.

She was in the kitchen and, immediately, she took in signs of a fight. Pots and pans scattered, some dented, cutlery everywhere, but sprayed around in a fashion that said someone had thrown the entire drawer full at a specific target-the defender throwing the drawer had to have been her mother. The attackers?

The room was smashed up, wooden chairs mangled on the floor, table split in two as though someone had been thrown down on as hard as someone else could manage. The inside door leading into the living room bore the imprint of a heavy punch which had almost gone through it, as though the attacker had aimed at someone and missed-Mum again, she'd always been quick. Cupboards were scuffed, splinters showed in places from impacts and skidding contact. There were traces of blood in the sink, as though someone had tried to clean away blood from an injury.

Whoever had broken in had done it here, thrown the rock and damaged the back door to get her mothers attention, then forced open the back door and attacked her in her own home. Her mother had used anything to hand to defend herself, but clearly hadn't succeeded given her absence. The scale of the damage and the level of violence employed said there had been at least two attackers, maybe three, likely three. Horror stories started to run through Serena's mind like scenes from Hell, but she forced them back. She was freaked out enough, scared enough as it was.

The side and outside of the kitchen door had a bloody handprint on them, after which a trail of blood lead upstairs, clearly coming from someone being dragged since others had trodden in it. It lead into her own bedroom, Serena quickly determined, not her parents. Swallowing, making very sure not to touch the blood, legs trembling, she made her way upstairs, catching the rank stench of human pain and fear coming at her through the half-open bedroom door. Something awful had happened in there, something she didn't need to see. Didn't want to see. She opened the door anyway, she had to _know_-

Her mother's torn-away clothes, ripped to shreds and covered in blood, all over the floor. Torn up bedding used to form primitive ropes attached to all four corners of the bed, as though they'd been used to hold a person there... The entire bed was soaked in still-damp blood, sheets torn up, one tossed-aside piece of material clearly gnawed on, no doubt a primitive gag. _This place_ had been her _home_, a place where she'd lived, worked, slept and felt safe. Now? Now she couldn't even look around at the rest of the room's fouled contents, couldn't ever think of herself in connection with this place again. Everything she knew had been utterly violated and taken from her in the most final way possible, bar death itself.

Something ended in her then, although she'd never quite work out what. Her best guess, even years later, was very simple: seeing just that room, what had been done there, had forever finished whatever faith in humanity and God she'd ever had, good or bad. The only things left real to her were the now and the thing people called experience. She lived life second to second, enjoyed what she had while she had it. Once that was all over there would be nothing left, nobody would miss her, all gone and dead, dust in the wind, rotting away somewhere lost, forgotten and unknown.

It made killing so easy it was laughable, when life itself meant nothing at all to you then you were simply capable of anything you had to be. She almost pitied the few who tried to gain hold of some part of her and keep it, they could never understand just how terrible loss really was. It was always great while it lasted, then it ended, sooner or later. It was never anything more than a touch to her.

She followed a thicker trail of blood to the bathroom, where she found the bathtub more than full of water-and something else, something a bright and slimy red, diluted by the water but still recognisable: _blood_, in terrible amount. Small pieces of something solid moved around under the water, even as the bloody slop splashed side-to-side, coating the floor of the bathroom with some nightmare slick straight from Hell. She reached into it slowly, not even sure what she was doing, got hold of a particularly large piece and pulled it out, blood flowing down her arm-only to find herself looking straight into her decapitated mothers face, one eye and half of the face simply gone, muscle and bone exposed.

She didn't scream, although later she would wish she had before she dropped her mothers severed head back into the bath of blood, splatter coating her blouse and face. Instead, she went downstairs and sat on the front doorstep with the door wide open, waiting for her father and brother to arrive. They did soon afterwards, in her father's old red pick-up truck.

Her father, Adam Liparti, 42 at the time, white skinned and black-haired fringed with grey, her blue eyes, a big man at six-three but long and lean, hard-muscled and fast as a snakes strike when he wanted. Made of iron shaped in the forges that had created the Republic her mother used to fondly comment when asked, a man of steel with no give in him at all.

Her brother, Jonathon Liparti, soft short black hair, her mother's eyes, her fathers looks without any of the tense, hard muscle or sharp-eyed stare that could drill anyone at fifty paces. A boy who she made sure never saw what came next.

Her father took one look at her when he parked the pick-up truck in the driveway and lost all expression. He said something to her brother, who looked confused but stayed in the truck when their father got out and walked over to her. He looked her up and down, his face going more and more grey with every passing second. Then he looked her in the eyes and spoke once, his voice so distant she almost thought she was thinking rather than hearing it.

"Where is she?" was all he said, a terribly simple question that told her everything she needed to know. Her father had been in the Military his whole life, he knew when it wasn't your blood on you. She would have given anything not to have to answer him, but she did.

"The bathroom" she replied, her voice not catching or unsteady, no pause in her words or reaction to his question. He just nodded thanks, then walked into the house and up the stairs without another word.

Her father had joined up at 18 years old in 1950, fought his way right through years of war in Korea in a baptism of fire, gaining Commendations and Awards for bravery and initiative, Medals celebrating the career of an exceptional soldier. He'd gone on to fight his way through Vietnam, again and again as he kept volunteering for another Tour of Duty because they needed every good man they could get.

He'd been awarded the Medal of Honour and the Silver Star for actions in Vietnam that most people would have simply thought Suicidal, or merely insane, never giving in, surrendering or falling back, ever. He didn't know the meaning of the word "Quit" and everything about him showed it, he was never less than an inspiration to her, one who led by example. He'd been down among the dead men, shaken the hand of death itself and spat in the eye of the Devil. He knew all about the very worst the world they lived in had to offer, he said nothing shocked him any more and she believed him.

That was why the scream that echoed through the house, across the street and on to elsewhere, so awfully saturated with every kind of agony and sense of loss nobody should ever know, shook her inside and out so completely that she always heard it after that. That was when she really knew life had no meaning, that what you were given was never what you got, that you could loose it all at any time at all.

That, she would think later, even as the life she knew ended inside her even as her fathers scream echoed in her ears, was the day she died. It was the day that Serena Baccarin was born. That day was the last time she would ever honestly smile. The last time she would cry.

/August 1st 1998, Racoon City/

Two weeks after that day, she'd discovered from Police officers investigating the case the initials KKK had been drawn in her mothers blood over the bath, so obscured by the moving nightmare of the bath "water" she'd missed them. Her father, always a man of few words, had steadily grown more remote and quiet until that day, when he'd finally lost it and disappeared one night. She'd been awoken in the dead of night just in time to see his pick-up truck disappearing at speed when she looked out the window.

She'd discovered he'd taken a Meat Cleaver, the M-16 he'd smuggled back from 'Nam in pieces, his Backup for the main weapon he left her for home defence and a variety of sharp implements. His uniform had also been gone, but she'd been well aware what he'd had in mind.

A week after that, he'd found the people responsible before the Police could catch him. Completely deranged by loss and out of his mind on anger and anguish, he'd merely begun by breaking so many bones in all three men they couldn't even crawl. After that, he'd done things to them so awful, for two days, before the Police finally tracked him down, that he'd been reduced to beating on pieces of raw meat with no capacity left to suffer pain before they dragged him off, that Police Crime Scene techs refused to work the scene after seeing what was there.

He'd been tried for triple Murder, but his Lawyer had made an Insanity Plea since the Client had clearly lost his mind, reacting to nothing and no one under any circumstances, which had kept him out of prison and away from the Gas Chamber. He'd been Committed for the rest of his natural life instead, with no possibility of Parole. He hadn't spoken since he'd killed his Wife's killers, she hadn't seen or spoken to him since. All he ever did was simply sit still, blank-faced and straitjacketed, in the middle of his secure, padded cell.

Whoever he was, whatever he was now, nobody knew. Nobody could reach him and she wouldn't try-her brother, who believed her dead after a training accident, had tried but the old man wouldn't even react to him. Maybe, just maybe, it was better that way. She just hoped he could die with peace and dignity.

There was no way she'd _ever_ talk about any of this with Chris, or anyone else. If she hadn't received very clear orders from on high she would have refused to discuss it with ETC shrinks and damn the consequences-but, her job was the one thing in life which gave her a purpose. She'd do whatever she had to do, that simple, her job meant that much. She'd done far worse than the Klu Klux Klan bastards had done to her mother long since, much worse, but it would never put right what had been put wrong. There was a hole at the centre of who and what she was only death could fill for even a while, should she live long enough one day she'd find out what that ultimately meant.

She easily popped Chris Redfield's apartment locks with her tools, stepped inside and firmly shut the door behind her. Once inside she pulled out a mobile jammer which ran on solar power since you could hardly lug around spare batteries in the field, which she'd maxed it out on the previous day, then turned it on. A high-pitched whine echoed, then built up in strength and ambience until she knew for certain every electronic device in the apartment currently active had been irreparably scrambled. Once the regulation three minutes had passed she turned it off, rolled her shoulders, stretched her arms over her head and sighed, then got started.

Anything liquid Chris had stored went down the drain as a security precaution, anything edible went in the bin as a standard. She went room to room, checked every piece of furniture, every cupboard, cabinet and hole in the wall. She opened and closed the windows to check for signs of tampering, examined every inch of wall, went over the ceiling and the floor. She double-checked every pipe, duct and dark area concealed in Chris's apartment.

When done, she'd uncovered four separate monitoring devices, all slagged already, two concealed weapons, which she knew were both Chris's because the firing pins had been expertly removed, a small bomb concealed in the bedroom she dismantled with little trouble-and a booby trap. That took her a few minutes, but she'd used, abused, created and dismantled every kind of IED at some point, so the outcome was never in doubt. It had been turned over by someone who knew what they were doing, a team in her professional opinion, but she knew what to do about that. The apartment was completely clean, she was utterly sure, so she took a more leisurely look around.

Pictures of Chris with his sister, Claire, with the S.T.A.R.S. teams and from the old days, back when he'd been in the USAF, practically covered one wall. One of his sister was held in a frame and placed by the bed, the most prominent other one was a wide-frame picture of him and Jill Valentine, arms around each others shoulders, with Barry Burton grinning like an idiot in the background, so big he loomed over the entire scene. Clearly, he was still hung up on Jill even if he didn't know it. What a surprise...

Chris's CD selection read like a "Who's Who" of Heavy Metal, while his band of choice appeared to be Metallica. He hadn't changed that since the two of them had started seeing each other two years ago now, strange man. He read "The Racoon Times", but his favourite reading material seemed to be FHM magazine-not that she could criticise his choice in women. The few books in the apartment seemed to be fiction by writers like Robert Ludlum-her world, or close to it, an old idea of Chris's- or, oddly enough, the occasional survivalist manual. Had he been studying up with idea of going somewhere very remote and very quiet with her for a week or two? The idea actually had real appeal...

In his bedroom a life-size poster of a young woman Serena didn't know hung over Chris's bed, a woman who looked surprisingly like her in reality. She would have been flattered, but if any man she knew needed a picture to remind him what she looked like she was loosing her touch. What she _felt_ like, how she _tasted_...? Those were different matters. That she could...discuss...with Chris later.

She glanced at her watch, it was 8:15 and long dark outside, the storm _still_ rolling and growling, gusts of wind and sheets of rain rattling the windows and drumming against the walls. She smirked, swung around and let herself leisurely fall back onto Chris's bed, which was as overstuffed and soft as every other bed of his she'd tried out. The half-tidied apartment she was used to, a holdover from his Military days. He'd once been told, he'd told her, that you always left something undone before you went on duty in the Military because, even if you had nothing else, it gave you something to come back to. That Chris had chosen his house cleaning to leave constantly half-done? Well, she was so dedicated to the job once she was done one could never even find bloodstains if Housekeeping was a necessity. Who was she to judge him? Not some paragon of the word "normal", whatever that meant, for certain.

That reminded her of something, another tradition she and Chris had. One they needed to be relaxed to really enjoy, which required alcohol in liberal quantities. Very liberal, in her case.

She pulled out her mobile and dialled Chris again. The phone was answered on the first ring.

"_Yes? Sera?_" asked Chris, clearly not sure why she was calling again. She just smirked where she was sure he couldn't see.

"Yeah, it's me. Chris, some shopping needs doing before you get here. We need beer, lots of beer, some fatty foods, treats... Well, you just get what turns you on and leave the rest to me, only make sure there's plenty of it. Before you say anything, somebody poured out all the beer you had here..." she said, winking to an empty room as she heard Chris sigh on the other end of the line...

/End of Part Three. All Reviews appreciated/.


	4. Chapter 4

For all disclaimers: see earlier parts.

**Sentences**

/August 1st, 1998, Racoon City/

Amber Bernstein was not happy. It was so late in the day, almost nine o clock and so dark she could barely see, that unless she was at work, under normal circumstances-and these were anything but-she would have been at home, curled up on her sofa with a hot chocolate watching what Joseph had referred to as her "chick flick" collection or reading a book.

She was no party animal, never had been, even though she'd been more adventurous when she was a kid. Now? Only two things could have gotten her out of her apartment this late. Joseph Frost, her boyfriend, asking her to spend the night with him or meet him somewhere. Jill Valentine, simply asking for some company.

Joseph...she still couldn't think about that, about _him_. She didn't dare, it cut inside her like she'd been stabbed in the heart even letting it cross her mind. Jill...she was still in such a state, trying to come down from the fear and terror-fuelled high the Spencer mansion, the woods around it and everything she'd seen and done had shot her up to.

It was a week later and Jill was still ready to jump out of a window to escape Zombies coming for her through locked doors and closed windows, monsters that only existed in her memory, nightmares and imagination. Even loud noises or the wrong word could and would set her off, Amber had seen it happen. Jill had actually managed to pull a gun and get a shot off while still asleep, she'd heard, trying to relax in her own apartment. It had only failed to go further because of friends of Jill's in the RCPD squashing the report long before it got high enough up the food chain to get Chief Irons attention.

If it had? The S.T.A.R.S. survivors had already been suspended, ridiculed and disgraced. Anything worse would have been enough for Irons to have Psychiatric Assessments done, which could have eventually let him have them Committed. Once they'd been locked away like that, they'd never have come out.

Worry for her friends, fear of Umbrella Corporation and what it was up to. Disquiet about what was going on inside the RCPD itself regarding Umbrella's activities and a terrible suspicion that it was already too late for Racoon City, monsters being just the beginning. All of these things were worrying her.

What really, _really_ annoyed her right now, though, was the fact that, in her civvies-blue jeans, a cream shirt and sweater, black jacket and comfortable brown shoes-she was waiting for Chris Redfield, no less, in Racoon City Park. It was cold, dark and wet, she was getting soaked through despite her umbrella and jacket-and she'd been forced into this, when she should have been on duty, by some madwoman she didn't even know who Chris swore by.

Chris was a good man and S.T.A.R.S. officer, honest, trustworthy and reliable, he always knew what he was doing and how to do it. Jill informed her he was even good in bed on top of all that. If he hadn't been such a self-centred jerk, she might even have appreciated all of that. Right now, though, she could have cheerfully strangled him. His mystery girlfriend? She still had to make her mind up about that one.

"Dammit!" she yelped, a sudden blast of wind whipping her hair into her face with a stinging impact even as it turned her umbrella inside out. Half-blinded, she caught a wash of rainwater square in the face and coughed as it got into her mouth, staggered and slipped on the wet, gravelled packed-earth path. Her left knee cracked on the hard ground as she caught her balance by throwing her arms out, making her yelp in pain, but there was nobody around to see so it was painful rather than embarrassing. Par for the course she was beginning to think, for this evening anyway.

The park was mainly mud, trees and a bit of grass all surrounding a children's playground with various rides and park benches with built-in seats, currently soaking wet and abandoned, the rides shifting slightly in the wind every so often. Set in more or less the centre of the city it was surrounded by six-foot red brick walls with a gate at each point of the compass, all of which were locked shut at midnight and reopened at six AM.

This was the place where families with children came to relax, where people just sat around and stared at things or had deep thoughts. It was also the place where some of the uglier gang fights had taken place over the years, since it wasn't impossible to get over the walls after dark and people were often reluctant to call the police since reports of gangland fights could drive down property prices.

Trying to think of more pleasant things as she wrestled her umbrella back into place and shape, swiping the water out of her face with a sleeve, she actually felt a trace of a smile lift her lips. Back when she and Joseph had just gotten really comfortable with the romantic aspect of their relationship he'd suggested a camping trip out into the wilds of the Arklay mountains, just the two of them, for some quality time alone. One night, as they'd just been sitting outside fondly kissing, embracing and touching as these things normally developed, it had started to rain. She'd started to rise to go inside the tent, but he'd stopped her with a smile on his face and a hand on her arm, a twinkle gleaming in his eyes. Then he'd sat her back down and simply started to unbutton his shirt...

She could feel the blood rushing to her cheeks even now as she remembered that, recalled the soft, damp warmth of soaked earth and rain against her skin. They'd been such a mess in the morning, but they hadn't been able to stop laughing after such a ridiculously good time. That was one of the big things which had convinced her he was the man for her.

The smile vanished as reality kicked in again, her face hardening. Now any and every plan she'd ever had for the two of them, any hope, it was all a dead issue. Just like Joseph, killed by the nightmare creations of Umbrella Corp. One way or another they were going to _pay_ for that, for everything they'd done. She'd find a way, or make one-

Somebody breathed in her ear, from so close behind her she hadn't even realised his cheek had to be pressing against her hair before she literally shrieked, jumped in the air and span around so fast he had to catch her to stop her falling over. She landed facing him-and almost literally snarled at the man revealed, who was grinning like a Cheshire cat given the biggest bowl of cream in the world.

Light brown short-cut hair, eyes of the same colour, strong, smoothly handsome face with eyes that said he'd seen and done much more than his age suggested. Not hard given the fact he was only in his early twenties Amber couldn't help but think. Well-muscled, 5,10 tall and light on his feet. He was physically compact and graceful, although nothing close to his mystery girlfriend.

He was dressed in a brown bomber jacket, black trousers, grey shirt, cream sweater and brown boots, none of which suggested to her his sense of style had improved at all in all the time they'd known each other-two years now, in fact. He looked like what he was to Amber, a boy who'd aged rather than grown up and kept the same goofy grin she suspected his childhood friends had found just as annoying as she did.

Even with his hair plastered to the top his head by rain and a steady flow of rainwater sluicing off of his exposed body, she had no doubt most women would have given him their number if he'd just smiled at them in the state he was in. He was soaked-through, drenched clothes outlining his muscular body in just the right way.

In other circumstances, she'd have slapped him. He knew what she thought of him and here he was, still trying it on. Right now, though, she was rather more worried by his mystery girlfriend than anything Chris might have had it in mind to say or do. Something about that woman, her instincts were telling her over and over, was just _wrong_…

"So, shall we go then?" asked Chris, swiping the worst of the rain off of his face with a smirk. Not even an attempt at an apology, despite the scare he'd given her, Amber darkly noted. Whatever was going on between Chris and this "Serena", if that was her even her real name, it couldn't be done soon enough.

Y

Lianna Styx was rather enjoying the bad weather, which would have seemed strange to anyone who saw her and didn't know her. Her red-gold hair was loose about her head and shoulders, whipped about hard enough to slash skin, covering her face, eyes and throat from moment to sudden moment as the storm-force winds battered everything. Rain drenched her even as she walked, running down over her face, neck, throat and hands where they were exposed outside of her heavy raincoat, but she seemed to be luxuriating in the feel as she moved. The deep thump and crack of thunder rolled immediately after the lightning came down, seemingly nearby, but Lianna's only response was a slight smile.

Her sunglasses still covered her eyes, as they always did, but she'd changed out of her formal wear for Umbrella duties and was now wearing a pair of worn old grey trousers, hard black shoes, a cream shirt and sweater, over which she'd settled a heavy full-length dirt brown raincoat. She'd gone for nondescript, this was by no means anything close to official business.

Umbrella could monitor anyone in this city, anywhere. The CCTV system was so advanced she could have told anyone what they'd had for breakfast, where they worked, what they'd bought and how long they'd spent there by post even before the individual reached his or her desk. Cain said it was a good thing that they knew _everything_ the citizens of Racoon did. What they thought, believed and imagined was going on, or not. It was one of few things she agreed with him on-_but_, it wasn't perfect.

Umbrella did not regard every building and area in the city as worth monitoring 24/7. Some areas were just not cost effective because the local street gangs simply smashed anything not mounted behind either shatterproof glass or a steel barrier, while others were completely derelict and pointless even using civil grant money to maintain. This meant that if you knew the system, the way it worked and where, you could dodge surveillance completely enough to loose any electronic trail.

She and Alice had actually proved the theory on a girl's night out weeks ago, leaving the corporation totally unable to find either of them and forcing the use of Pagers to contact them, but that was something she needed to forget about. Alice was gone, she wasn't coming back and there were no two ways about it.

The person she'd come to see lived in the small apartment block she'd just reached. Only six floors tall, it was hardly particularly broad or modern, evidently going back to the sixties with dusty windows, creaking doors, patterns evident on the worn carpet just inside the door almost worn away by countless feet. The whole building looked functional rather than comfortable, but she'd slept in worse herself. For a S.T.A.R.S. officer whose father was a professional thief Jill Valentine was surprisingly frugal with her money, that Lianna had discovered during basic background research.

It made sense in a way, though, if you thought about it. The way Jill had to have been brought up she would always live with one foot out the door, bag packed and ready, gear immediately to hand, money in a pocket and ready to bolt. Jill had put down roots here with Amber, the other S.T.A.R.S. officers, some RCPD officers, an apartment and a job to hold her in one place. But Lianna was sure the woman would never change that much.

Once a thief always a thief and, in reality, a good thief always knew when it was time to slam the door and run. Jill's father had been the best, dig deep enough and it became evident that she was, or could have been, even better. That was why Lianna had made the effort to meet her face to face, at least the once.

Sighing, she walked inside, barely pausing by the desk clerk as the pimply young man made some move towards questioning her presence. Fifty dollars and a smile bought her silence, so she didn't say a thing and moved on. Valentines apartment was on the top floor, which granted immediate access to the roof, fire escape and the chance of concealed gear being concealed amidst the roofs obstructions. Perfect for a thief. She was making the right decision doing this, even-Hell, especially behind Cain's back.

She reached the top floor apartment Valentine was in-she _was_ in, for certain, the lights were on, she'd been seen entering the building before the tail had withdrawn to a safe distance-and stopped, glancing around at the faded portraits on the walls, the dirty paint barely covering the worn old walls. The whole building stank of old pizza, too much alcohol, the kind of mustiness that only came with years of slow decay from excess damp and cigarette smoke. But, she herself had once lived in one literally soaked in blood, gore and pain for two weeks-or, more accurately, survived in it under siege. That had been...interesting. This? This was just...well, depressing. What was the point?

Enough was enough. She raised her hand and knocked on the door, the loud thumps echoing around her and down the hall. She hoped Valentine answered the door in person rather than with a gun, it was no secret how jumpy the woman had been since the Spencer Mansion incident...

"Who is it?" called a voice, a young woman's voice Lianna easily identified as Jill Valentines. Musical and soft with a hard edge backed up by steel, it suited her.

"Room service" called out Lianna, not particularly bothered what it took to open Jill's door. Once they were both inside, they could deal with whatever happened next. Jill's door evidently had a peephole, which meant she'd see the odd woman outside and most likely open the door with the security chain in place to get a good look. Or at least, Lianna hoped she would. The door opened slightly and a pair of brown eyes stared out at her, face wearing a confused look.

"Your not room service. Who the Hell are you?" asked Jill, sharply, her eyes narrowing.

"I'd like to think a friend, but associate is probably better. Or, at least, it is for now. There are things we need to discuss, things we shouldn't even mention aloud in the hallway. Can I come in?" asked Lianna.

Jill just stared at her, then shook her head. Lianna was only twenty-six years old, having ascended to her senior position on the basis of exceptional intelligence, skills and a truly exceptional gift, but she'd proved herself over and over. Jill Valentine wasn't much younger, but Lianna looked into her eyes and momentarily thought that she saw something putting them whole worlds apart. The kind of fear adults didn't know, a childhood fear of the dark that had no business being in Jill's eyes, beyond which could be seen traces of the monstrosity she'd witnessed in the Spencer Mansion. She could see sweat on Jill's skin, despite the cool temperature, the occasional twitch of an eye...

It didn't take a Shrink to spot the fact that Jill Valentine was on the verge of a breakdown, which made things far more complicated. She was far more likely to pull a gun and try something in that kind of state-and the fact the other S.T.A.R.S. would leave her alone in her evidently fragile state didn't say much for them. Of course, they all had their reasons to be away.

Brad Vickers had left town fast after the Spencer Mansion incident. Barry Burton was busy moving his family up into Canada in a hurry. Chris Redfield was out in the city somewhere, trying to stay out of sight while investigating what he could of Umbrella's activities. Rebecca Chambers was buried under a mountain of paperwork trying to make some sense of the fragmentary evidence they'd found in the Mansion, which she never would, no matter how smart she was. With only pieces of the puzzle and huge missing chunks she would be unable to make more than an educated guess at best, which wasn't even remotely close to enough without solid evidence.

Amber Bernstein, though? With the ongoing, escalating civil disturbances occurring in Racoon as the Virus escaped into the city bit by bit following the initial Hive compromise and reopening? She'd have been run off of her feet on a regular basis trying to keep a lid on things, without even being truly aware of what she and the RCPD were doing on Chief Iron's Orders. If she knew about this she'd have been there for Jill, no matter what. So...

Well, the smart solution was to turn a problem into an advantage. That gave her a very interesting idea?

"No, you can't come in without some kind of god-damn explanation beyond "you'd like to talk to me". Do you have any idea what I've been through, what the press has said and done to me? What the RCPD has done to me? Do you KNOW how many damn conspiracy theorists have come knocking on my doors saying "I KNEW IT!" and asking me for an interview?!" snapped Jill, almost shouting through the small hole she'd made.

"I'm Suspended, disgraced, called crazy, a drug addict, psychotic and deranged on a regular basis. I'm going to loose a job I love, possibly go to prison, probably be Committed and almost certainly be killed. Even _if_ I survive, I'm going to end up sleeping on the streets and cleaning toilets for the rest of my life if I'm lucky! Now, _why_ would I even give you the time of day?!" Jill snarled, the hand on the doorframe clenching into a fist so hard the knuckles went white with the pressure.

"Good question, here's a good answer. Albert Wesker, Umbrella Agent since recruitment in 1976, Special Advisor for Umbrella Corporation, stationed at Racoon City in Deep Cover by Black Umbrella to assist with Security and Research concerns at the Racoon City facilities. Held rank of Captain in the S.T.A.R.S. Special Police organisation at time of apparent death in 1998, recruited by said organisation in 1981 as a new recruit directly out of the Police Academy. Stated mission: to eliminate or destroy any and all obstructions and delays encountered by Umbrella Corporation labs in Racoon City and surroundings. Supplementary mission, to assist and advise on research and development as required. Current status: MIA. Do you want me to go on?" asked Lianna, arching an eyebrow.

"…To know all of that, _you'd_ have to work for Umbrella. In a senior position, right?" replied Jill, slowly.

"Yes. Which is why I'm here, actually. I'm not going to claim to be some bleeding heart idealist, humanitarian or hero. Not even some kind of anti-hero who's seen just how ugly my employer can get and become willing to do anything at all to take them down. Believe me, I don't care about any of that. I'm an utter bitch and I'll prove it if you make me. What I _do_ care about is my _life_. You, I think, are the same, even though you like to suggest that the horrors you saw up at the Spencer Mansion made your mind up for you?" asked Lianna.

It took Jill a moment to respond, she clearly couldn't immediately come up with a response. Good, that was the way Lianna wanted it. If she wasn't thinking clearly, she'd be easier to manipulate, more likely to listen.

"…That's not…I-_look_, where the _Hell_ do you get off-?!" Jill began, but Lianna cut her off. It was remarkably easy, actually, even as she became aware that she'd succeeded in punching through Jill's battered mental state hard enough to gain and keep her attention.

"From a position of strength, which you utterly lack. That I can help with, though, if you'll let me?" said Lianna, reaching into her coat slowly. Jill's eyes watched her like a hawk as she removed the sealed small cigarette-holder steel box from the inside of her coat-then her eyes opened so wide she risked her sight when Lianna breached the seals and exposed its contents.

Two sealed test tubes were secured in steel grips inside, one full of a luminous, treacly purple fluid, the other full of a bright grass-green variation. The differences were far more than cosmetic, one gave life and the other…_changed_ it. Jill Valentine's expression alone said she knew what she was looking at.

The door closed quietly, Lianna heart the rattle of the security chain being disengaged then it swung open again. Jill Valentine stood still and silent in front of her, slim, athletic and softly beautiful with brown eyes and hair which fell to her shoulders. She was wearing a pair of black bicycling shorts which fitted snugly over her upper legs on up to just over her hips and a sleeveless white t-shirt with big red letters which read "**THE PERSON WEARING THIS IS A KILLER**".

"I think you'd better come in…" said Jill, very quietly.

Y

After a quick stop to pick up beer and some snacks, Chris Redfield and Amber Bernstein reached his apartment surprisingly quickly. He went first, eyes scanning everything for the slightest sign of being out of place, just like Serena had taught him, hand on gun butt, but there was nothing.

It was late at night, the weather was so appalling anyone with any common sense was inside and in bed or reading a book with a hot drink. That would have made anyone who shouldn't have been there easy to spot, at the very least, but he wasn't particularly worried about them. No, people he could handle. It was technology which pissed him off.

Thankfully, Serena, who had taught him many scary things about her world and its ways over the years, telling him about more along the way, had stated she would take care of that end of things. He had no doubt at all that she would, so they were off to a very good start.

"Chris, I'm soaked through, so cold death would warm me up, feel as though I've been thrown through a hurricane inside a washing machine and suspect I've lost a layer of skin tonight. All of this has happened to me because your weird girlfriend has made it very clear I either do what she wants, for tonight, or else. So I'm definitely understood, when this is all over? I'm going to want a damn good explanation. Clear?" muttered Amber, clearly feeling so battered by the awful weather she didn't even feel like talking loudly.

"I could give you one now, but you'd never forgive me for ruining what's left of your life, Amber. Trust me, its better you ask her" replied Chris, utterly oblivious to the weather as he stared up at his apartment windows. No lights, but it was Serena so if she said she'd be there, then that was the case.

"Hold on, what do you mean "what's left of my life", Chris? I'm only twenty-four, I've got a good half-century at least left to me thank you!" said Amber, sharply.

"After what we all told you about the Arklay Mountains, the Spencer Mansion and the White Umbrella facility Rebecca found? After everything we now know Umbrella is connected with or into? Amber, Umbrella is in the top five list of "planets biggest companies". It could feasibly buy Alaska if it wanted to, or resource the entire US Military with surplus. I know enough about that sort of thing to know they'll go after us and anyone close to all of us making sure, however they think they have to, that what we know _never_ gets out. Your really Jill's sister in every way that matters. What do you think that means, huh?" said Chris, checking to make sure there were no moving vehicles on the road before crossing quickly, Amber sharply on his heels.

"Your suggesting they'd kill us in public if they had to, do you realise _that_? In any case, if we put everything we know on the Internet it'll all get out eventually. Even Umbrella doesn't have that kind of power. We _can_ keep ourselves safe, Chris, its what else we should do you need to be thinking about" replied Amber, even as they entered the building and began to walk up the stairs.

"Do you actually believe that? I'm no hot shot with computers but I know there are ways to control even information, believe me. More to the point, I can guarantee you Umbrella will have an entire army of dedicated Hackers with _the_ most sophisticated and cutting-edge gear available for huge amounts of money playing God on the Net to make sure exactly what your suggesting is utterly impossible. Be my guest proving me wrong" said Chris, pushing open the level door as they reached his floor.

Amber went to reply but had to stop as Chris suddenly stopped dead in mid-stride, head up, listening, sniffing... "You smell that?" he asked, slowly.

Amber had to switch gears abruptly to work out what Chris was talking about, but when the stench hit her she almost retched. She had to put a hand over her nose and mouth to block out the worst of the stink, just to enable her to draw breath without choking. How the Hell had she missed _that_? A sickly-sweet stench of rot, meat on the bone left out and rotten, dried blood mixed with thick half-cooked liquid fat...

"Bloody Hell...please tell me that's just someone's fridge broken?" she said, trying not to breathe in through her nose. Of course, it made no difference.

"It smells more like somebody's left a dead dog out to rot and tried to cook six week old rotten bacon to me-what?" asked Chris, an innocent expression on his face as Amber appeared to actually turn green. If looks could kill, he later reflected, the look Amber shot him then would have landed his scalded body parts outside the city limits.

"You're a bastard, Chris..." muttered Amber, feeling so queasy it was definitely a good thing she hadn't had time for a heavy dinner earlier. If he came out with some quip about spiders, she swore he was going out the window...

"True, but that's why everyone loves me really, good guys don't live long in this job. Do you really want me to use Wesker as an example? Don't you _dare_ suggest I model myself on him, Amb" said Chris, his expression so ice-cold serious she knew he wasn't seeing her for that long moment. Wesker and Chris hadn't got on when Wesker had just been the Captain of the S.T.A.R.S. in Racoon City, but after the Spencer Mansion? She had no doubt at all Chris would have ripped Wesker apart with his bare hands if the man had somehow survived being skewered by a Tyrant.

"I wouldn't, Chris, not ever. You do know that Jill thought you'd warm up to her after a while, but when you didn't she left you, though, right?" replied Amber, needling Chris over what she knew was a sore spot. Although how Chris could be seeing someone like Serena and even _think_ he could need a second girlfriend was beyond Amber's imagination.

There was spectacularly beautiful, then true exceptions, then there were women like Serena. That was something she'd love to discuss with Serena if she got the chance, since she'd never ask Chris questions about his love life unless Jill was involved. Just what kind of relationship, if it could be called that, did Chris and Serena actually _have_?

Chris ground his teeth so hard she thought she'd hear a crack as one snapped. Definitely a sore spot.

"...Lets just not get into my personal failings, Amber. I never claimed to be a genius at these things, just competent. Maybe sometimes a little less than. Anyway, were here" said Chris, stopping outside his apartment door, clearly in an effort to change the subject. Amber just smirked where he couldn't see.

Before Chris could knock, the lights clicked on as the door swung open right in front of him and Serena loomed in front of him-definitely the right word, Amber couldn't help but think, taking in the woman's near six-foot frame with something close to awe. Dark haired and with some colouring of skin, tall and hard-muscled with the kind of looks which defied description as inadequate, Serena had the kind of presence in person which would have made people in passing cars stop and stare while anybody who saw her face could never have met her eyes. Brilliant eyes which, Amber couldn't help but notice, were very much focused on Chris at that moment in time...

Serena stepped forwards and, without so much as a greeting, pulled Chris into the kind of passionate kiss which made Amber feel as though her hair was going to catch fire, even as she seemed to feel steam escaping from her ears. She almost felt as though she'd be less embarrassed watching the two of them in bed. Whoever Serena really was, to say she was completely uninhibited was just the beginning of a very long conversation about all kinds of things...

After what seemed like forever, the two of them came up for air. Chris dropped his bags on the floor with a thud, reached up and ran his right hand through Serena's hair while his left caressed her left cheek. The physical intimacy was almost remarkable for Amber to witness and dispelled even the slightest doubts she might have had left about Chris and Serena being physically involved.

"I missed you, Artemis" said Chris, softly, so softly Amber almost missed it. Clearly, the words weren't intended for her ears. What was _that_ all about, anyway?

"I missed you, too, Apollo" replied Serena, leaning in for a second kiss. Amber wasn't counting the seconds, but before the two of them came up for air the second time she was gasping for breath herself. That lasted until Serena turned and looked at her directly.

"Well then, shall we? It's been a while since I had a sit-down with a Police officer" said Serena, wearing a huge smirk. Amber just sighed, this was going to be a long night...

Y

Chris's apartment living room contained a video drawer set underneath and part of a small bookcase, a big TV. with speaker system, a radio with CD player, a fat armchair, an equally fat sofa and a reclining plastic cushioned chair set directly in front of the TV. It had a thin carpet and was lit by a single large window which led straight outside the building to a four-storey drop, you had to go through the kitchen to get to the fire escape she'd already established.

Serena made sure Chris, who'd thrown off his damp waterproofs, sat down on the sofa before she did, then she took off her jacket and knelt on the sofa next to him, legs swung off to her left even as she leant into him. Her right hand she possessively placed on his left leg, pressing on the upper thigh firmly. That was her territory and she wasn't going to let him forget it.

Amber took the armchair, her jacket slung over the back, teeth chattering as she rubbed her arms with her hands and rapidly rubbed her hands together, breathing on them hard, trying to get warm. Serena almost felt sorry for her, but took pity on her instead and fished a mars bar out of the bags Chris had dropped on the floor by the sofa before tossing it to Amber. Amber fumbled the catch, startled, but it fell in her lap easily.

"Eat up, you look like you could use some edibles" said Serena, pulling out a can of coke and opening it herself. She tossed the whole drink back in about a solid minute, a fact which raised Amber's eyebrows. Obviously, she couldn't help but think, Amber had never been in a situation where she'd had to survive on whatever there was to hand and make the best, the most out of it no matter what. You never killed more than you could eat.

"Thanks. So, what are we doing here anyway?" replied Amber, opening the mars bar and taking a massive bite out of it.

"Well...in all honesty, I plan on ravishing Chris senseless at some point. Your welcome to join in, but there were some other things I wanted to check out first" replied Serena, ignoring the sudden coughing and spluttering coming from Amber's direction as she winked at Chris.

"First of all, Chris, is the beginning. I've read all of the RCPD reports, the results of the official S.T.A.R.S. investigations, the Internal Affairs reports and the reports you and the other four submitted after it all went down. We both know that nobody ever puts the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth in any report, though, so I want to hear it from you, first-hand. Now" said Serena, looking at Chris intently. He looked straight back at her, then shook his head with a sigh.

"If I'm going back there, I'm going to need a drink. Maybe two drinks, perhaps even more than that...Alright, lets go. It all started with..." Chris began, pulling a bottle of beer out of one of the bags, popping it open and taking a deep swallow before he handed one to Serena. He finished the first one even before they'd reached the Mansion.

Serena saw the disturbed look in Amber's eyes as Chris went on, on his third bottle by the time they reached the point where they found the coffins of George Trevor's Wife and daughter. After they went underground and found themselves hunted by the mutated daughter, who wasn't dead after all, the reality of the state she was in being far worse, Amber had joined him in knocking back bottles. By the time they covered Wesker's betrayal, his imprisonment of Jill, killing of Enrico Marini and attempted killing of Rebecca Chambers-only saved by her bullet proof shirt-Amber had reached her third bottle while Serena was keeping up with Chris. It was at that point, however, that Serena interjected with more than a quick request for clarification.

"The Tyrant, did it have an origin designation? Any identifier, numbers, a name?" asked Serena, sharply. Chris couldn't even begin to think why she'd care, _he_ didn't, but since she'd asked...Well, there _had_ been something. He thought about it-then it came to him, just like that.

He blinked, he supposed he must have glimpsed and remembered it because of how hideously intense the circumstances were, with Wesker holding a gun on him, Rebecca sprawled at his feet seemingly dead, the deactivated Stasis Tube just behind Wesker slowly going dark as the electricity maintaining it faded away. Then the Tyrant waking up, to skewer Wesker right through the chest from behind and hold him ten feet off the floor, blood-drenched and dead...

"Yes, funny that, can't think why I'd remember it but I do. The name was Mickey Webb, mean anything-what?" asked Chris, even his somewhat sodden brain picking up on the expression that was suddenly on Serena's face. Then, a first in his experience, she actually threw back her head and let out a real belly laugh.

"Because if that was who I think it was, there's still some justice left in the world after all. Never mind me, go on" said Serena, waving a hand as though she was trying to direct an orchestra without looking. Chris and Amber both stared at her, but Chris just shook his head and continued after a few seconds pause.

He recited the rest of the horror story he had to tell without interruptions, although he was slurring his words by the time he finished. Serena doubted it was a good idea for him to get that drunk, given what she suspected was actually going on in his head after the nine Hells he'd been through and how the human mind tended to cope with such things-she'd know, after all-but alcohol could also blot things out, at least for a while, so she said nothing. Just maybe, they all deserved this little bit of peace and warmth in a hard, cold and deadly dark world?

"Chrish, you are an, utter, bashtard...its..._important_ you know that" said Amber suddenly, too loudly, clearly so drunk she wasn't fully aware of what she was saying or doing. Serena felt her lips curl, this might be interesting if she stayed out of the way...

"Wha? What does...do you mean? Amb?" Chris replied, blinking slowly and with great care.

" Wha do I _mean_?! Chris, you play Jill like she's one o' those drums you like so much when you want her, ignore her...rest of the time. Think all a woman wants is...great sex and some...chocolates? Huh...that's a _beginning_, no an-_the_ end. She talks to me, y'know? Never go out to dinner, never make a fuss 'cept when touching, wouldn't know how to treat a woman...instruction book was used to break your nose first, make a point. Bastard" repeated Amber, with a sense of definite satisfaction audible in her voice.

Chris, Serena noted even as she hid her smirk with a tactfully raised hand and arm, was turning more and more red with embarrassment the longer Amber went on. Drunk or not he knew she was right, just like Serena did. Chris was a wild animal in the sack and had a truly exemplary technique-he'd learnt most of what he knew from her, so she could attest to that first hand-but he had the social skills of a block of wood sometimes and had never really understood even dating beyond taking a woman out for a late-night romantic meal somewhere prior to falling into bed together.

Romancing a woman and courtship were areas he simply had no actual knowledge or experience of. It didn't bother her, she'd never wanted to Marry him and was just looking for great sex and friendship every once in a while. But anyone who actually wanted a serious relationship with him? She wished them luck.

She'd have sat down with him and explained it all herself, but her sex life was a _long_ list of one-night stands that would have shamed Clinton-and he was honestly the first man apart from her brother she'd actually tried to maintain a relationship with for any real length of time. She was no example of a normal, adult, mature relationship where anyone was concerned, so she'd leave _that_ talk to somebody else.

"An anyway...what about _her_?! She's..._beautiful_, Chris, mind-boggling kind of...cute. People would, cross continents just to _look_ at her. Why you _want_ anyone else, you got her? _Sad_ bastard" muttered Amber, her expression alone almost making Serena chuckle.

Amber _really_ didn't like Chris, which made it a certain fact that she'd been the one who'd caused Jill and Chris's break-up, just like Serena had suspected. Serena almost wished she had a tape recorder handy, just so she could record this bizarre conversation and replay it from time to time to amuse herself. There was so little left to her she actually enjoyed, after all.

"Alright, STOP. This is not...abuse Chris night. I do have feelings...you know? I may screw up on things like real relationships...sometimes...but I never set out to hurt Jill and you..._know it_, Amb. I said I was sorry...to her. I'm..._not_ going to say it to you. Were _not_ dating" snapped Chris, clearly getting fed up with Ambers verbal assault.

"Don't knock it until you've tried it, Amber, he's not all bad or a complete waste of space. Unlike any number of "men" I've had over the years" cut in Serena, dryly, leaning her head on Chris's shoulder with what was almost a purr of pleasure as her hand started to drift to drift up his leg.

Chris almost swallowed the empty bottle of beer he had at his lips when her hand started to move. Amber's eyes opened so wide Serena almost thought she was going into shock before she fell out of her chair in slow motion, landing on the carpet with a distinct thud which she appeared to totally fail to notice. Still on the floor, she looked up at Chris as Chris looked down at her, the two of them making eye contact briefly before both sets of eyes scanned up and down the other's body...

"Nahhh..." said Chris and Amber simultaneously, immediately followed by a relieved sigh from both. Serena rolled her eyes and wondered what would have happened if she hadn't been in the room. Amber and Jill weren't that different and, no exaggeration, most women looked at a man like Chris as something of a catch. If Amber hadn't at least fantasized about it then she was the Emperor Caligula...

A sudden roar of heavy engines sounded outside as big vehicles came close by, which made Serena stand up and walk to the window for a look out of curiosity even as a muttered "Ow" came from Amber, who'd apparently just noticed she'd fallen out of her chair. Ignoring Amber, she looked down at the street, where she saw something which was almost curious.

Three large black trucks, big cargo containers, were making speed past Chris's apartment building to somewhere else. No identifying marking's beyond number plates, she couldn't see the drivers and she'd didn't have a map of Racoon City to hand to check their possible destination. It was odd, which raised suspicions that had kept her alive over the years to a level which put her on a dangerous edge. In a city owned by Umbrella Corporation, there were no coincidences when something apparently inexplicable occurred. Something was going on, but what?

"S' not fair...how come you aren't drunk, Serena? You had more tha me..." muttered Amber, trying and failing to get up.

"I have a uniquely high metabolism which helps me keep my girlish good looks, Amber, I _can't_ get falling down drunk. Anyway, shush" replied Serena, turning around to face Chris. She'd slung her jacket over Chris's bed in the bedroom, her gloves on top of that. It didn't matter if her prints were found in Chris's apartment after all. She could deal with all of that later.

With the alcohol loosening her up a little she'd told Amber the truth, but that didn't mean it had no effect on her at all. Added to Chris's warm presence and their long time apart? Well...Amber's presence didn't bother her at all, especially since she was really something of an exhibitionist, a fact that she kept well hidden all the time except when she was _sure_ she was alone or with a boyfriend. The fact was she was feeling aroused at the thought of having Chris all to herself for a while. In fact...

She walked slowly towards Chris, deliberately exaggerating the natural sway of her hips and her posture to improve his view of her figure. She looked at him very openly, letting every one of the smoky tendrils of lust that drifted inside her seeking release show through in her eyes and on her face, licking her lips as she went. Her hands rose up to the top button of her shirt and undid it, then started to work their way down...

Chris sat up straight, then leaned back into the sofa, spreading his legs to allow her full access. He knew what she was like, what she wanted and what she'd do. He knew what she was like, just like he knew he could never have enough of her. The way he smiled as he looked totally relaxed said it all.

Her shirt came undone and she tugged the ends out of her trousers, letting it fall away and loose to hang from her shoulders, baring her breasts excepting for the lacy black bra she was wearing. Chris's smile widened noticeably, even as he raised his arms over his head to allow her to pull off and toss aside his sweater...

"Hey..." came a feeble call from somewhere nearby. They both ignored it.

With Chris's sweater out of the way, she went to work on his shirt and quickly had it open wide, running her fingers and hands across the hard muscle and smooth skin of his chest. His fingers and hands moved across her upper body with the luxurious ease of intimate familiarity, touching every one of those perfect places he knew, even tracing her scars. No, he hadn't forgotten anything about her at _all_.

"Hey!" came a stronger call, from somewhere nearby again. They both ignored it.

His hands moved over her shoulders and slid the straps of her bra aside down her arms, fingers going on to caress her neck, which made her throw her head back in pure sensual delight. His hands came back across to her breasts, working them expertly even as he made a sharp intake of breath when she touched a point directly under his ribs. She hadn't forgotten anything about him, either.

"HEY-?!" came the voice again, this time shouting. Thankfully, whatever else was said was drowned out by a clap of thunder so loud and close that it seemed to make the building shake. The lights flickered at the same time. They both ignored it.

Chris leaned forwards and trailed a line of kisses from the base of her neck to just above the belt of her trousers, before moving back up and kissing her full on the lips, his left hand tangled in her hair as his right slipped under her bra. She traced a line of liquid pleasure using her left hands fingertips from right shoulder to left hip, while her right hand moved lower, fingers inside his trousers. She could feel his response to her against her own lower body, but she wanted to feel him close against her skin. The lights went out abruptly as lightening flashed and thunder rolled again, but the two of them only dimly registered the fact...

Y

"HEY! I'm still here!" shouted Amber, finally managing to get her feet under her as an adrenaline surge shot through her from the shock of the lights going out. The sudden total lack of ambient sound told her that everything electrical which had been on was now fried or off until the power company could fix it. Great, she couldn't help but think, wondering if the same was true in her own apartment. It didn't help the fact that she couldn't take her eyes off of Serena, even though she should have been looking at Chris. She hadn't been sure everything about the woman was real, now she knew better-

She _really_ needed to get out of here before following that line of thought led her somewhere she _really_ didn't want to go with all of the alcohol inside her practically shutting down her common sense and intelligence. Watching those two together made her want to see what Serena felt like herself-

_Knk Knk Knk_

The sudden thumping on the door nearly made her jump out of her skin, but it worked. Chris and Serena abruptly came loose of each other-and she was _not_ checking out Chris's exposed chest when she suddenly got a very good look. However, when she looked at her watch she wondered what had just happened-it was 12:43 AM. No wonder she was so tired, but this was a Hell of a time to be knocking unexpectedly on anybody's door?

"I'll get it" said Serena, standing up and doing up the front of her shirt just enough to avoid giving anyone who saw her a heart attack. Chris sighed and lay back again even as Amber tried not to stare at him and failed. For all the time she'd known him, this was the first time she'd ever seen this much of his body so exposed. Maybe Jill _had_ been on to something, physically at least? She _really_ didn't need to be wondering whether Serena had anything she'd like a lot more than a good look at, too.

Serena looked out the peephole of the door, frowned and unlocked it. She opened it just enough to see who was outside-then slammed it shut, hard, locking it and bracing her whole weight and muscle against it. Chris stood up so fast he almost fell over, clearly startled.

"Serena, what-?" he began, but she cut him off. Amber didn't like the look on her face even before she spoke.

"Your neighbours are here, Chris" Serena said, gritting her teeth as a thump sounded from the other side of the door abruptly. It was enough of a knock to shift her slightly, which Amber knew was no minor hit.

"_What_? What do you mean, its my neighbours?!" asked Chris, obviously as non-plussed as Amber felt.

"That's the good news" snapped Serena, as a louder thump of impact echoed and her feet shifted backwards on the carpet floor again. Amber could see the dent in the door this time. So could Chris, she was sure.

"What's the bad news?" asked Amber, very quietly, suspecting she already knew even as her pulse raced and she started to feel the beginnings of panic coming on. She'd have started praying if she'd believed it would do any good after what had happened to Joseph on the final S.T.A.R.S. mission.

Serena met Chris's eyes first, then met Amber's before she spoke. "They're DEAD" she said, just before a bloody arm in a torn shirt smashed right through the door and grabbed her by the hair, dragging her head backwards towards the hole even as Amber finally heard the mindless moaning coming from outside. Jill, Chris and the others had described it only too well when they'd told her what had happened to all of them, there was only one creature which made that sound..

She looked over at Chris sharply, only to see him white-faced and trembling with what could only be fear. Her heart skipped a beat. They were _here_, _now_...

All she could think to say was "Oh shit..."

/End of Part Four. All Reviews appreciated/.


	5. Chapter 5

For all disclaimers: see earlier parts.

**Sentences**

/August 1st, 1998, Racoon City/

"Son-of-a-BITCH!" snarled Serena, as she felt her hair being torn right out of her head by inhuman strength. She grabbed the arm with both hands, one at the elbow one at the wrist, then wrenched up at the elbow while shoving up at the wrist as hard as she could. The move would have shattered any human's arms with her strength behind it but Zombies, despite the fact their bodies started rotting the moment they were infected, were stronger than that. It actually took a few seconds of straining before the arm broke at elbow and wrist with an audible double _crack_, freeing her head-even though she felt some strands of hair tear loose as she wrenched clear.

She grabbed her gun from the chest holster, looked through the hole in the door at the evidently puzzled face of a recently dead young man who's pale skin and blank filmed eyes were really the only indications he was actually dead, then shot him in the eye at point-blank range. The weapon she had was small calibre but effective-and it showed as the Zombie was punched backwards with a small hole where its eye used to be even as blood and gore exploded out of a larger hole out the back. The arm whipped out as well as the body crashed over, but she could see at least two more outside. They were in real trouble.

She stepped away from the door, glanced over at Chris and Amber-only to see Amber still and pale, evidently going into shock, while Chris just stood still, mouth opening and closing uselessly. This, she did _not_ need.

"Lieutenant Amber Bernstein! Snap out of it, work to be done!" shouted Serena, wondering whether the trick would work. Some people responded to instructions when they were incapable of reacting or acting otherwise because they had had it drilled into them, over and over, that they always responded to an order, a subconscious necessity. Some people responded only to please for help from loved one's. All she had was what she knew about Amber to work with, though, she simply didn't know the woman well enough to be sure of what would get through to her.

"Sir! Yes, sir, I-what the _Hell_-?!" replied Amber abruptly, shaking her head as if to clear it and glaring at Serena. Serena ignored her even as another impact on the door behind her made the hinges rattle, too much. They had maybe two minutes before the door was smashed right off of its hinges by monsters, no time for mollycoddling.

"Shut up and listen, woman! Fire escape, kitchen window! Get out and don't stop for anything! GO!" shouted Serena, whipping her hand around in the direction of the window to spur Amber on even as the sound of cracking wood came from the door. She amended the time they had left to seconds, plus she could pick out more moans coming from outside. At least two more Zombies had arrived, drawn by the chance at warm flesh and blood. _Great_.

Amber didn't need any more urging, she span on her heel and ran for the kitchen as though she was being chased by rabid wild dogs. Chris finally reacted even as Amber raced off and charged the door, landing a double-footed flying kick to the upper half even as it began to buckle inwards, knocking backwards a Zombie by smashing its face flat. He nearly went through into the corridor as the door half-collapsed under the impact, but rolled off to the carpeted floor with a heavy thud. Scrambling to his feet, he ran for the bathroom even as Serena picked up the sofa and rammed it into the doorway at a charging run, the chairs bulk completely blocking entry. She couldn't hold it for long, of course, but she didn't need to.

"DAMN it-!" shouted Amber from the kitchen, a shout which was quickly followed by the sound of shattering glass as she had to break a jammed window to get outside. A dull thump sounded as she forced the window frame out of the way as well, but Chris coming back distracted Serena from Amber when she what he was holding. Deodorant spray-and a cigarette lighter.

"Chris, _don't_-!" she shouted, before throwing herself flat as he ignited the spray and shot the blast of burning CO2 at the sofa, igniting it instantly. She rolled away from the sofa frantically, trying to ignore the stench of her own scorched hair before she rolled to her feet and shot a glare at Chris that made him take a fast step backwards.

"Brilliant. Absolutely _fucking_ brilliant, Chris, if you want to kill us that is! Has it occurred to you they won't stop for that?! We had two ways out of here, now were down to one, _moron_! Haven't I taught you anything?!" said Serena, backing away from the growing fire.

"Just to do whatever it takes and a few other things" replied Chris, even as the foul stench of burning cloth and melting rubber was joined by the truly awful smell of charring, bacon-cooked flesh. The Zombies were driving in past the fire, she didn't even need to see them to know that.

"Then you need refresher lessons, such as "when dealing with the walking dead, forget what you read as a child". Fire doesn't _work_ on the damn things, Chris, all it does is make them well cooked and brittle unless the head comes off or the brain bakes. They tricked out your guns so grab a knife or something before we go. Now lets get _out_ of here" said Serena, still backing away even as she began to be able to make out a humanoid form _in_ the fire...

"Just a sec...does Amber know about the fire escape?" replied Chris, still holding the deodorant and lighter ready. He suddenly looked puzzled, Serena noticed, as though he was missing something.

"Just where it is. Why?" she asked, even as the burning sofa fell off to one side and a pillar of fire spread the fire even further along the walls, ceiling and floor.

"Its kinda unsafe..." said Chris, slowly...

Y

Amber swore as she forced the window frame up and out of the way, gripping the upper half of the lower section with hands swaddled in every towel she'd been able to find to protect herself from the shattered glass she'd kicked out. The window was stiff and ill fitting, on top of which she doubted it had been opened since Chris had moved in. She wished he was here, she could have used the muscle on top of the opportunity to smack him upside the head for landing her in this mess.

She wrenched the window frame completely out of the way and stepped out onto the fire escape, a steel and iron set-up which led in stages down the side of the building. There were other buildings not far away, one's surrounding Chris's apartment building in fact, but none of them were directly adjoining. That was a good thing, though, the last thing they needed was whatever was happening here spreading into other buildings, let alone further on into the city.

She stepped carefully around the broken glass, trying to ignore the strange shudders of the fire escape as she just walked on it. Probably just loose screws in some supports, she reasoned hopefully, no reason to get scared or worried.

Just as she thought that she smelt smoke for the first time, then she caught a glimpse of a yellow-red blaze of light inside the apartment, near the door. Her heart sank so far down it was out of sight. The building was on fire and she couldn't call the Fire Brigade because they'd just be killed-but maybe there was someone else she _could_ call?

She pulled out her mobile and went through her address list. _Kevin Ryman_. He'd listen to her if she told him the tenants in Chris's apartment building had drunk contaminated water, gone nuts and set the building on fire, requiring a SWAT team as well as the Fire Brigade.

She heard shouting from inside suddenly, just before she dialled the number, sure Serena and Chris would be right behind her-then Chris came barrelling into view, bellowing something she couldn't make out. He realised it and stopped to calm himself down so he could speak clearly, but she felt a sudden inexplicable shift under her feet and a sudden sense of weightlessness. She felt as light as a feather, which scared her to death because she suddenly knew, with cold, crystal clarity, what was happening. The floor was moving under her...

Chris leapt towards her, shouting again, only this time she could understand him. Too late, she knew, as he began to get further away. She was falling away from the BUILDING-!

"-AMBER! GET OFF THE FIRE ESCAPE!" Chris was shouting, far too late.

Y

Chris Redfield saw Amber Bernstein start to fall away from the building as the damaged fire escape bent and cracked under the sustained pressure of just Ambers slight weight. He should have told her to keep moving no matter what, to run all the way down until she reached the ground and not stop because the fire escape was overdue a service and was coming loose from the wall, everyone knew it. But he hadn't, now he'd left it too late.

He lunged for her hand as the entire structure started to tear clear of the wall, four storeys up and going down fast, but missed by half a metre. He didn't dare try and jump onto the fire escape himself. It was coming down with just Ambers weight on it, if he managed to reach it it would have folded up like an accordion with the two of them on. Could he throw her a rope? He would have, but he had nothing long enough in his apartment. He needed _help_-!

"SERENA! _HELP!_" he shouted, before turning back and sprinting into the bedroom where he grabbed his old ally, a steel baseball bat, from behind the bedside cabinet, spinning around and racing into the entrance corridor even as the smoke threatened to blind him. He coughed like he'd swallowed rather than breathed the thick smoke, but made out Serena's dark form in the increasing fog anyway. She was holding something high behind her left shoulder-her arm snapped forwards, he felt rather than saw a knife flicker though the air so fast he couldn't follow it, then the still-standing burning Zombie collapsed with a nine-inch carving knife sticking out of one eye.

"Hold them here" said Serena, then she turned and ran past him so fast he almost felt slipstream. He sometimes forgot just how fast she was, not to mention just how good she was at what she did, he was the first to admit it. But, even for her, with this one they were in deep, _deep _trouble now.

A scorched Zombie staggered out of the smoke, hair on fire, face half melted, hands charred and clothing lit embers. He almost went for it, then had a better idea and went for the kitchen. Retrieving his frying pan, he got back to the corridor and smashed the Zombie in the face with the pan even as it came up to the corner. It reeled backwards, jaw and nose broken, blinded, so he slammed a massive blow to the side of its head which almost dropped it with the terrible cracking sound of a severe skull fracture. He hit it atop the head again, then again, until it collapsed to the floor with its skull shattered, brain pulverised, dead all over again.

"Nobody likes my cooking" muttered Chris, swinging the pan back and forth to flick some blood off of it. A moan sounded from the fire even as he had to step backwards and away from the growing heat, already sweating like a pig from the proximity. He tore his shirt off, it was only hanging loose on him anyway. It wasn't as though it was good for anything right now, for one thing.

Time to get back to work, he thought, even as he saw a burning figure reach a warped, scorching arm towards him. Only a matter of time.

Y

Serena got to the kitchen window just in time to discover Amber, frozen still in fear, clutching in terrible fright to the frame of the fire escape, which was eight feet away from the building and breaking up as it fell which the harsh clangs of fracturing metal sounding second to second. She had no time to try and get through to the frantic Amber this time, which left an option she couldn't quite believe she was seriously considering. Did it matter that much if Amber lived through this?

Iraq answered her question. An old memory of a man she'd had to shoot in the head even though he'd been dead. She didn't even know Amber, but suspected she'd like her given time. That settled the matter.

_...Oh, Hell..._

Serena backed up into the kitchen as far as possible, then ran at the open window as fast as she could, diving through the open area without stopping and crossing the widening gap in mid-air like a bat out of Hell. If she missed or lost her grip she had a forty-foot fall and certain death to look forwards to. Thankfully, she made a habit of climbing the outside of buildings freestyle in every kind of weather, not to mention every other kind of terrain imaginable, on top of which her best distance from a running start was twenty-two feet if she went all out. She was never going to miss, while she simply did not fail.

She collided with the collapsing fire escape hard, gripped tight, swung herself around fast and reached Amber in seconds. Amber looked as though she'd come face to face with death himself, the dead had more freedom of movement and Serena almost stopped to check if Ambers heart was still beating. But, again, she didn't have time for any of that.

The slap nearly broke Ambers jaw, but succeeded in getting her attention despite Serena's fingernails leaving a welt which quickly began to bleed on her left cheek. Amber had been in utter panic, speechless with shock and fright, now she was simply furious with Serena herself. It was a start, at least she was acting and reacting again.

"HEY-!" yelped Amber, but she nearly screamed abruptly as the fire escape shifted, starting to fall over towards the ground before settling somewhat again, the sounds of collapsing and cracking metals echoing everywhere with increasing frequency. They had no time at all.

"Shut up and hold onto me around the shoulders, woman! No time to debate!" snapped Serena, trying very hard not to move even as she tried to shift herself slowly towards Amber's position. From what she could tell, if a pigeon landed on the collapsing fire escape right now she and Amber had a quarter-ton of steel and iron landing on top of them to look forwards to. Knife-edge didn't begin to describe it. The fire escape was even beginning to buckle directly underfoot now.

Amber hesitated, then flung herself at Serena and grabbed her in a bear hug around the shoulders and upper chest, her grip so forceful Serena felt her ribs creak. She also felt a final warning creak from the fire escape-she grabbed Amber and turned, leapt for the edge of the building with both arms and hands outstretched even as the floor simply disintegrated under them, the whole structure collapsing into scrap metal about them.

Her best chance was to grab the windowsill of the nearest window-but the awkward posture added to Amber's unsettled weight and grip made her miss, fingertips scraping against brick and stone. All grabbing at that kind of surface would get her at this speed and weight was broken fingers, which meant real trouble.

Thankfully, she knew what to do. It was almost amazing the number and type of different situations the ETC trained you to handle. More particularly, it was important one always remembered that the plan never survived contact with the enemy because human beings never reacted exactly the way you expected, meaning that improvisation was always a critical component for mission success. She'd excelled at that from when she was a girl.

No grip, no traction. Fine, she didn't need them. Spread eagle the body, shift the weight out from the centre of mass, create a definite horizontal balance. Get in close to the building, use its natural drag as a brake. Watch out for obstacles and individuals, you could use the former but the latter would just hurt you.

Twenty feet, focus on getting down in one piece, lock out all distractions-including, in this case, the screaming woman on your back. Remember not to land standing up or on your feet, treat it like a parachute leap and prepare to roll to soak up the impact.

Ten feet, cycle your posture and move to be sure, reach out and find a form of brake in the air. _Roll_.

She wrenched Amber off of herself and threw her clear before thrusting forwards and spinning herself around in mid air in a momentum-absorbing roll which left her barely moving mere feet above hard grey pavement and concrete ground. The ground loomed up to hit her in the head, but her roll was complete and she kicked off and away from the building in a back flip while shifting to land on her left shoulder, bracing for impact-

_Contact_. She felt her shoulder pop out of joint even as the impact numbed every muscle on her left side but she landed in a fast roll, went over twice and stopped, hissing with pain. It took a minute for her to work through the pain and shock, after which she untangled herself and stood up slowly. Amber was less than six feet away from her, sprawled untidily on the ground, blood around her lips...

_Oh, Hell..._Serena slowly managed to force herself to stand up, hoping that Amber hadn't managed to accidentally kill herself after all of this. Wincing with discomfort, Serena looked Amber over from head to toe and said one word. "Amber?" she asked, quietly.

Amber's eyes flared open and she breathed in a great gasp of air, chest heaving. Coughing and spluttering she half-rose, got to a sitting position then turned sharply to one side and vomited, still trying to draw in and keep a deep breath. Blood and vomit mixed in an ugly puddle on the ground, but it wasn't enough to get worried about. In fact, Serena was pretty certain Amber had just bit deeply into her lips trying not to scream and failing on the way down. Perfectly normal first-time reaction.

"Bloody Hellfire...your insane, woman, we should be dead..." muttered Amber, thickly, her tone of voice suggesting she still wasn't quite sure if she was alive or not. Again, perfectly normal first-time reaction, Serena noted.

"If you're not dead it worked, Amber, never argue with success. Excuse me" said Serena, gripping her injured arm and working the joint just right. With a quick wrench and a shove the shoulder popped back into place, leaving her arm painful but serviceable. She could live with that.

"Now get _out_ of here, get help and don't come back without it. Get the S.T.A.R.S. first, then SWAT and Fire Brigade, we need experienced people here _now_. GO!" snapped Serena, then she turned and ran back to the building. Chris was still trapped on the fourth floor, she had to get him out-

"COMING THROUGH!" bellowed Chris's voice from high above, just before the window that had led to the fire escape exploded right out of the hole in the wall it had been set into as an armchair was thrown through it. Seconds later Chris stood on the windowsill, then he hopped more than jumped out and fell to the windowsill on the next floor directly below his, catching hold with both hands and dragging himself up the wall. Once high enough he used a boot to kick out the window, then rolled himself inside, where he disappeared from sight. Maybe he had learnt something from her after all?

She reached the front door, kicked it open without stopping and found herself face to face with the middle-aged grey-haired bulky form of the apartment supervisor. Filmy eyes stared at her even as his mouth opened impossibly wide, exposing sharp teeth as he reached for her.

She took great satisfaction in slamming a snap kick to the centre of its chest of such force that she felt rather than heard every single one of its ribs and its breastbone break. She followed through with a left cross followed by a right cross even as it staggered, smashing its face to pieces as bone snapped and flesh tore. She stepped in close and head-butted it before ripping out its throat with the blade of her hand from sheer spite, veins and arteries tearing open as skin shredded under her fingertips. Without waiting for it to recover she got it in a headlock and twisted sharply at precisely the right angle, the crack of its neck breaking echoing through the muscles of her arms up into the base of her neck.

That done, she tossed its remains aside, feeling much better. Absently shattering the skull underfoot to finish it off, she made a note to get a weapon. Fun though working with her hands could be, she couldn't do it all night long. Maybe the reception desk had something? She only had one bullet left and no reloads in her pistol, reserved for emergencies.

She walked over to the desk and checked, breaking open a locked drawer. In this part of town, you never knew-ah, yes. She pulled out a double-barrelled sawn-off shotgun, cracked it to check the load and found it fully loaded. A further search revealed a half-empty box of shells, which she emptied into her trouser pockets. Chris needed her, now she was ready to really help him.

Y

Chris Redfield was in Hell, or at least he hoped he was. If he wasn't, he was going to become a Priest and dedicate himself to God in every way after this because he could never know what real Hell was. He looked around the room he'd landed in again, swallowed and took a step backwards. His heart was going ten miles a minute, he couldn't _do_ this...

Two adult Zombies. One a woman, long blond hair, pretty-missing a huge chunk from her left cheek which exposed teeth and jaw amongst blood and gore. The second a man of about the same age, somewhere in his twenties, one eye gone, lower lips and chip seemingly gnawed off, the jawbone almost completely exposed and hanging loose. Then there was a dog, a BIG dog, with its skin coming off, rattling growls coming from it like the one's at the Spencer Mansion had sounded, pink meat and flexing muscle shining in the dull light.

Then there was the child, all of three years old, almost too young to even stand, bloodied chest telling how it had happened. A child, crawling across the bloody carpet towards him intent on tearing his flesh off of his bones. He wanted to die even just thinking about just how sick all this was, but he wanted to live more.

He was unarmed, half-naked and tired, facing off against a building full of undead monsters in the dead of night. Some of the people he was up against he'd known, in passing or well enough to ask him to watch his apartment when he was away for a while. His only backup was a professional Assassin who was three floors below him even if she was inside the same building. He was _so_ screwed...

New approach: remember Umbrella was responsible for _everything_ which was happening here. No matter what he did to survive, he was doing it to honour and preserve the people he'd known in life. Somebody had to speak for the dead, that was unofficially the job the surviving S.T.A.R.S. had been landed with when they found out what Umbrella corp. was up to and survived the experience. It was a line of reasoning he had to learn to live by, because if he didn't the sheer nightmare horror of the situation was going to kill him.

Umbrella could and would put them on the street, take everything away from them, ruin and humiliate them and their families, disgrace them to such a degree even the most raving paranoid fantasist wouldn't believe what they had to say. None of that mattered, it _couldn't_ matter, not now. They had to do whatever it took and win through in the end, no matter the price, or they're no reason to go on at all.

He'd been a soldier once, he knew about warfare and what it meant when you made a declaration of War against a country or organisation. Umbrella Corporation had declared War on the surviving S.T.A.R.S. of the Racoon City Alpha and Bravo teams, it was time to show them just what that meant. Time to do something _crazy_.

He screamed, then charged in and straight-armed the male Zombie so hard he thought he felt his knuckles crack. For all their strength Zombies simply weren't quick, in any way, so he'd crossed the distance and catapulted the Zombie from its feet with a crack of breaking bones before the other monsters had even begun to turn towards him. The dog growled, by far the fastest, span and caught his boot in the head, flipping it over end over end until it landed in a tangle three feet away. It didn't get up, by some miracle he'd broken its neck.

The female Zombie was easy, he leapt forwards and landed heel-first on her left knee. Her leg snapped even as the joint popped with an awful crack, the Zombie collapsing as though its strings had been cut. He slammed a right cross home as hard as he could, breaking its jaw and spinning it around to the floor, then glanced around frantically as he saw the male Zombie slowly standing up.

He saw the big TV, grabbed it in both hands, ripping its power cable out of the wall in the process, then charged the male and smashed the TV over its head so hard just the impact put it on its knees. A series of fizzes and cracks sounded, then the Zombie slumped to the floor as Chris smelt cooking meat. Fried, should keep even it down.

Grabbing the small radio off a nearby shelf he punched the female Zombie in the head with it, again and again, until he was left with just shards of plastic and torn electrical wiring-apart from the blood and skull fragments all over his hands. He looked like some kind of serial killer, just what he needed. Ignoring the crawling child Zombie, too slow and weak to be a threat, he tore the apartment apart, finding a Glock 9MM hidden in the closet behind all of the clothes. Fifteen rounds, one magazine and no reloads. He'd have to make do.

The kitchen yielded a huge steak knife which was closer to being a short sword in Chris's opinion, making him wonder just how well he'd known his neighbours, but that was all pointless now. It was time to go, he could smell the thickening smoke already and feel the fire eating its way through the buildings structure as well as everything in it. As well as almost everything he'd owned, he reminded himself. Although, thankfully, he'd moved certain things he couldn't loose to a safe place, just in case, days ago now.

He walked to the door and put his ear to it. He could hear moaning outside, not much and not close, but there had to be Zombies in the corridor. Tough, he could try running past them for speed, or slaughtering the things if he couldn't duck them. He grabbed the door handle-and yelped in pain, letting go instantly. It was almost too hot to hold, the fire had to be moving onto the floor below already...

They were running out of time. With a six storey building on fire in the middle of Racoon City, even in the dead of night, dozens would have already called 911. If they didn't get out before the police arrived he'd be lucky just to get arrested. Under these circumstances, him being caught up in all of this would be just the leverage Chief Irons would need to override the S.T.A.R.S. investigation and send them all down for good, so far they'd never be seen or heard from again. That would be before Umbrella got its dirty hands on them, too.

He swore savagely and kicked the door so hard it almost broke in two, only the lock held. The second kick pulverised what was left and tore the remains of the door completely clear of the shattered frame. He sprang out into the corridor, wheeling sharply from left to right, gun raised and ready. He felt rather than heard the ceiling tremble as a wash of heat seemed to develop around him, even as he spotted two Zombies left, one right, one shattered door suggesting more inside that room. Left led to the stairwell, which was where he was going since he had no faith at all in elevators in a building like this at the best of times, let alone with the living dead wandering around loose-

The lights went out. Suddenly, the only illumination was from streetlights outside shining dimly under shut doors and an orange glow spreading all across every part of the roof he could see. The fire was going to be through in seconds, it was going to bring the roof of this level down with it...

Perfect, he'd needed a kick-start to remind him to keep life interesting. Engaging in hand-to-hand combat with Zombies in near complete darkness when even a scratch could kill you and worse, the building you were in was burning down all around you and you weren't even sure if there was a safe way out any longer? It was a generous encouragement to commit suicide in his opinion. Good thing he'd never been one to take the easy way out.

He raised his gun and fired best guess, dropping both Zombies in his way with three shots somehow. Then, even as moans and growls started to sound everywhere, letting him know that the entire building was infested, he ran as though physical exercise was being made illegal by professional sadists tomorrow. Almost literally flying past everyone and everything, even as hammering fists and feet started to break down doors as Zombies smelt fresh flesh and blood close by, he hit the stairwell so fast he barrelled down the first flight of stairs in a bruising roll before managing to stop himself.

Leaping to his feet, he found himself face-to-back with an elderly white male Zombie facing the wrong direction. Even as the creature started to turn he grabbed it by the groin and back of the neck, lifted it right off of the floor with a massive surge of physical strength and threw it over the stairwell banisters without pause. It flailed around the whole way down until landing with a noise that Chris's mind wouldn't let him remember later, not that he stopped to watch. Zombies were starting to crowd near the stairwell as they smelt or heard his progress and shoved their way past swing doors.

A dull rumble and thump behind him reminded him to hurry even faster, a sound and impact which had to have been a partial collapse of the third floor ceiling. If the building suffered too much structural damage from the fire it would collapse with them inside, if they weren't trapped and killed by the fire itself first, if the Zombies didn't kill and eat them through some miracle.

He made himself a promise then: if he got out of this alive, he was going to get a _real_ drink and then ravish Serena so thoroughly even she'd be impressed. After that he'd sort out whatever relationship there was left to salvage between him and Jill, if it wasn't too late.

IF, a very big if. He was in a dark and terrible place right now, so _if_ he made it out...

Y

Serena was almost startled by a body falling past her, visible despite the failure of the electrical supply almost blacking out everything, but the noise it mad on landing didn't bother her given some of the noises she'd made people make over the years. Besides which, she knew enough about the Zombies to be sure that one wouldn't have fallen over a banister by accident, the creatures didn't push and shove one another. Chris was on the stairwell above her, a fact that could only be a good thing.

There was an access door onto the stairwell on every level, one which could be pushed open either way. It wasn't designed to keep people out unless locked and she had no way of blocking it, so she'd have to make a particular point of watching her back.

She could hear the increasing sound of moaning and thumping as Zombies started to move out of the corridors and rooms towards the stairwell, but there were too many in the building to stop and fight by herself even if she'd been considering it. That meant they had maybe five minutes, probably less, until the stairwell was crowded and they were left with no way out. It was time to _go_.

She hit the second floor at a sprint, only for a Zombie to come through the access door directly on her left so suddenly she almost literally tripped over it. It led out the dull rumble which passed for a predatory roar with Zombies and lunged at her-she fired both barrels from the hip at point-blank range into its stomach.

The blast tore it completely in half at the waist, its legs sliding to the floor even as its upper half collapsed forwards to her feet. She cracked the shotgun, ejected the spent shells and reloaded even as the Zombies upper half tried to drag itself over to her, then hammered on its skull with the shotguns butt until its head popped like an overripe tomato. More Zombies were coming through the door, so she picked up the separated legs and wedged the limp body segment between the door and the wall, jamming the door shut. It was no more than a stopgap procedure at best, since their enhanced strength would allow them to crush the remains in short order, but every little helped.

Gunfire sounded above, a pistol fired at close range into something soft, no heavy impact signifying contact with the walls, ceiling or floor. _Chris_. She turned and ran, to find Chris face-to-face with three more Zombies on the landing above, more pouring out of the access door beyond him, some of those on fire or with burn damage. He was blocked in both directions-

"CHRIS! _DOWN_!" she roared, aiming high. Thankfully, he knew better than to question her when she was giving him orders in tactical situations. He hit the floor and stayed low even as she fired at neck height with both barrels.

Two of the Zombies were decapitated, one's head slowly tearing loose as shreds of muscle and sinew left after the blast injury gave way even as it just stood still. The third, the last one in her direct path, caught the main blast squarely in the chest, which barely even got its attention. That, she couldn't allow. Thankfully, Chris's eyes had to have adapted to the dark because he swung around on the floor and shot the last Zombie right under the chin, the top of its head erupting as the bullet shredded its brain before punching out through the top of its skull.

"GO! GO! GO!" shouted Serena, spinning to watch Chris's back even as she pointed straight down the stairs as directly as she could. Chris leapt to his feet and ran for his life without a moment's hesitation, literally bouncing off of the walls as he sprinted. He just made it past her improvised doorstop on the second floor before the body section gave way with a wet snap and crack, being shoved aside far too quickly. Two Zombies tried to come out at the same time, which actually worked in her favour even as she slowly backed down the stairs from the approaching burnt or burning one's.

She turned smoothly and fired, one barrel and then the other. Blood, brains and skull fragments exploded everywhere as she dropped both Zombies with perfect headshots, the force of the close-range blast from her shotgun catapulting them backwards into the access door and through it, collapsing other Zombies behind the door in the corridor like a pack of dominos. Then _she_ ran, cracking open and reloading her shotgun even as long legs carried her towards freedom-

She heard it before she saw it, stopped dead and looked down. Zombies were everywhere on the ground floor, at least a dozen, all slowly but surely moving towards her and Chris. Chris was trapped on the first floor and was holding the access door shut with his shoulder, evidently meeting resistance from the inside. He couldn't go up or down, all she could do was join him. This was the kind of situation most tactical planners had nightmares about. Outnumbered, completely surrounded and lacking in sufficient firepower to say the very least. Fortunately, most tactical planners weren't her.

"MOVE!" she barked, coming to a sharp stop directly beside Chris. He stepped away from the door as ordered-and a tall, lanky male Zombie stepped out. She shot it in the face, blasting it back the way it had come and they were going, then stepped after it as its twisted, ruined body held open the access door. Two more Zombies were barely visible in the deeper gloom of the corridor, she dropped one and Chris the second-with two shots, she noted. Normally, he'd only have needed one. They had to watch their ammunition, but they had to get out alive more importantly. She just hoped he remembered his fire control training from his military days, S.T.A.R.S. training just wasn't as effective and she knew it.

Moans and rumbles of sound started to echo everywhere, heavy thumps sounding quickly followed by the sound of cracking wood. Serena thought fast, using the mental snapshot of the outside of the building she'd got while taking her tumble with Amber, worked out the right room and ran, trusting Chris to follow. She stopped sharply outside the door, gesturing with the shotgun and a quick nod of the head for Chris to lead.

He did as ordered and threw his whole weight behind a savage kick right over the door handle. The door cracked around the point of impact, the wood splintering-then it gave way as Chris followed through with a second kick. The door stopped as it collided hard with a hugely overweight Zombie standing behind it, who had once been a middle-aged black man she suspected survived on fast food, but she shot him in the face and moved in without pause. Scanning the surroundings, she picked up on the feminine products-just in time for a tall, thin female Zombie who had to have been the mans Wife to crash into her coming out of the kitchen.

Teeth snapped within an inch of Serena's neck, but she body blocked with the shotgun before countering with a head butt which shattered the Zombies nose and drove it backwards staggering, following through with a shoulder charge which sent it flying over the kitchen table. She kicked the table over on top of it, grabbed the nearest heavy object-a saucepan waiting to be cleaned in the sink-and went for its head-

A huge knife hacked down through the left eye into its brain before driving on through the skull right into the floor. Serena paused, looked around and saw Chris standing right beside her. She raised an inquisitive eyebrow and he shrugged.

"Hey, I know you had it in hand but I was starting to feel like a third wheel here. Anyway, where next? I think were running out of time, you know?" Chris said, glancing back with a trace of fear in his eyes at the continuing noises of doors being smashed and Zombies approaching with slow, unsteady footsteps. She didn't blame him, but now was not the time.

"To quote from my favourite fantasy movie, "Do you want to live forever?" Follow my lead, Chris" replied Serena, cracking and reloading her shotgun before striding quickly over to the kitchen window. If she'd judged right? Yes, there it was. She tried the window but it was stuck, even when she applied her full considerable strength to opening it. Rusted or well and truly jammed, she doubted it had actually been opened in years. Plan B, she used the butt of her shotgun to hammer out the window frame carefully, in such a way that the glass actually fell inwards. After several carefully placed strikes the frame fell inwards and the glass cracked, but didn't shatter. She shoved it away with her foot and looked outside again.

Yeah, the shell of an old car was still there and the frame looked sturdy enough. A twenty foot drop, under ordinary circumstances, she'd have just made and been away at speed after landing on her feet. With Chris in tow, though, she needed some kind of platform to land on, he just wasn't anywhere near as agile or tough as she was. Worst-case scenario, he could break his neck in the fall. She wasn't willing even to chance that.

"SERENA!" shouted Chris, backing towards her away from the doorway as a Zombie appeared in it. Followed by another, then another, then more. Time up.

"Chris, JUMP!" shouted Serena, grabbing his shoulder and dragging him back towards the window, not letting go until he swung around and saw what she was talking about. He saw the leap, did a double take and stared at her. Then he grinned like a crazy man, shrugged and leapt from the windowsill like he was taking a walk in the park. She smiled. Chris had nerves of steel, she had to give him that. Of course, it didn't hurt at all that she'd told him to do it, he'd have jumped off a cliff backwards if she'd told him there was a safe landing waiting. That was what trust was, after all, total, utter and unquestioning faith in another. To her, at least.

The nearest Zombie was only six feet away so, as a departing gift, she pulled a big steak knife out of a drawer and hurled it in an easily aimed straight-arm throw. The knife went through the Zombies eye and pierced its head with such force the tip of the knife came out the back, tossing the things entire weight backwards with such force it knocked the Zombies behind it all over the place as they lost their footing and fell like collapsing buildings. She smiled and it was good.

"Tell them the Reaper sent you" she said, with a feral grin, then she blew them a kiss before taking a tumblers roll out of the window. She landed so lightly on the old cars roof she almost bounced off of it before rolling smoothly over to the ground where Chris was standing bent over, head down, just trying to catch his breath. She could see the sweat gleaming all over his body in the lamplight and had to resist the urge to taste it on his finely formed chest. Damn, but she'd almost forgotten just how good Chris Redfield looked with his shirt off after a workout...

"Tired?" she asked conversationally, brushing her hair back from her face and checking her remaining ammunition. She was sure this wasn't over yet and, a sad fact, the best way to deal with trauma was to make it as real as possible in situations like this, force your mind to absorb it like anything else until you had the luxury of time to deal with it all. That was something nobody should know as well as she did.

"In Hell, but just visiting. I'm okay now, where next?" Chris replied, straightening up and taking a deep breath to clear his head.

"The most public place possible will be the safest, rule one of the Black Kill, taken to infinite extremes in this kind of situation. Where can you think of?" she asked, taking in everything she could see and overlaying it with the map of Racoon City she'd studied.

"The Mall, where else?" replied Chris, his tone telling her he expected her to know he was joking. The expression on his face changed when he saw the look in her eyes.

"Oh, Artemis, you _cannot_ be serious..." he said, slowly.

Y

_Brrt Brrt_

He almost started, then his conscious mind woke up and let him know what he was hearing. Unexplained noises and he had a bad history, but he'd learnt to suppress the reaction over the past thirty years. Among other things.

_Brrt Brrt_

His eyes blinked open and he sat up slowly in the soft bed, feeling uncommonly tired to say the very least. The reason for that still lay pressed against his side, the feel of that long, curving physique pressing against his body very pleasant indeed. Stamina was certainly not something she lacked, even if he'd half-wondered if he'd get out alive having gone to bed with her. He'd never have expected a BOW to be capable of being so gentle, or so passionate. It would be wise to remember just why she was so different, even more so than Pierre Dupree and his kind always were.

_Brrt Brrt_

He reached over to the bedside table and picked up his still-ringing mobile, flipped it open and checked the caller ID. Umbrella, Racoon City HQ, what a surprise. They always called on him to clean up their messes, whether or not the job should have been handed to him. He knew Racoon City was lost, he wondered whether they did yet. Regardless, he didn't honestly care beyond the way it fitted into his ultimate goal and master plan: the total destruction of Umbrella Corporation and all associated, burnt to the ground and gone forever. He was very good at his job, it was only a matter of time.

He sighed and hit the answer button, even as the Pager belonging to his companion, also sitting on the bedside table, started to buzz madly. A Black Umbrella BOW Agent being priority-signalled at this time of night? He knew she'd set the Pager to "secure", so only an Emergency signal would have overridden and activated it. That meant _serious_ trouble. _Damn_, what had Cain done now?

"Trent, go-he's done _what_? Your joking... No, I'm well aware your deadly serious, it was a figure of speech. No, I don't need pick-up, I have a car available, I'll be right there. Where's Lianna...? You don't _know_? Are you completely incompetent? No, I'll deal with it myself. Keep calling her until you get an answer, send people looking for her if you have to. I'll be there in ten. Goodbye" said Trent, sighing the moment the call ended. Even as he did a long arm reached past him and picked up the Pager, then threw it out of the closed window without pause, the glass shattering with a loud crack.

"I was having such a good time, too..." muttered Jovana Kasica, disgustedly, sitting up herself and making a point of stealing a kiss from Trent before he could get out of the bed they were in. He just smiled at her.

"It's a good thing there will be plenty of time for that later, then. Right now, I have something for you to do, your speciality" he said, his smile growing broader.

She ran her fingernails over his chest in a way which made him gasp before rolling out of bed and starting to dress. "Ultraviolence? Sounds like fun..." she said, a terrifying smile on her face.

Y

Sitting at home alone in his two-storey modern house, big windows, lot of rooms with plenty of space for a growing family, bought with his own money to give them all a place to settle once and for all, the man seated in the big armchair, sipping whiskey from a shot glass, had seen better days. His family had fled to Canada, he'd seen them off a week ago. Most of his close friends were dead, he'd had to watch them die, members of the S.T.A.R.S. Alpha and Bravo teams, men and women he'd fought and bled with for years. His Career was over, he was disgraced, ridiculed and called insane on a regular basis on every news show, in every paper-all for telling the truth. If there was a better definition of character assassination than what had happened to him and his surviving friends, he couldn't imagine it.

He raised the shot glass so the lamp light reflected in the amber liquid through the prism of the glass it was in. "There's no justice, truth is a lie the rich tell themselves to feel better in the morning, the suggestion that this world cares about anyone who makes a stand rather than money. Amen. Better luck next time, guys" said the man, his deep voice echoing in the empty room.

Wearing a sky-blue t-shirt, dark-blue jeans and black boots-inside his own home, in the dead of night-the big man was slightly drunk and he knew it. He could feel the sweat soaking into his clothes, making thick and filthy his dense red hair and long beard, but he didn't care. Dark green eyes still glittered, if slightly unfocused, in his face and his mind still worked, but...he was only thirty-seven, he could still hold his drink like he had when he was in his twenties. The shifting, massive muscles moving around under his clothes as he changed position reminded him there was nothing wrong with him physically, either. Unlike too many people he knew, far too many...

His name was Barry Burton, an Agent of the S.T.A.R.S. organisation since he was twenty-one years old, a senior Agent and trusted man with the golden touch, who everybody trusted, admired, respected and looked up to. He knew his way around weapons like nobody else in S.T.A.R.S., could assemble and disassemble anything in the S.T.A.R.S. arsenal blindfolded, was a more than decent mechanic, leader, sharpshooter-and betrayer.

He'd been forced to do it by threats against his family from a man he should have been able to trust with his life, but it didn't change the fact he'd betrayed his few surviving friends in the Racoon City elite S.T.A.R.S. teams. He'd never broken his word or any promise he'd made, now even his good word counted for nothing. The last loss cut almost as deep as his forced betrayal did, he wasn't even sure if he was worth anything at all any longer.

His choice of Career, his intent to fight for a just and decent better world under God, was in complete and utter chaos, destroyed and gone. There was no better world to be found, forged or created and, in reality, he no longer believed in God. He didn't believe in anything much any more, not after seeing the dead walk, not after seeing the monsters which walked this earth created by human hands in the Arklay Mountain forests and Spencer Mansion.

If he believed in anything at all, in fact, two things were everything. Keeping his family safe and, almost as important, finding a way to bring Umbrella Corporation to justice. Even if it took every remaining day of his life, everything he had, even if it _took_ his life. They were pounding on the gates of Hell with their ongoing investigations, independent of everyone and everything but Amber Bernstein by keeping what they knew and had discovered amongst only the surviving S.T.A.R.S., with the intent of breaking through and bearding the Devil himself in time. They _would_ succeed, there was no possibility of failure while any of them were still alive, the only questions were how long and at what cost.

In all honesty he relished the coming fight, something to really get his teeth into. Umbrella had taken damn near everything from him, now he was going to take bits and pieces of everything they valued and needed from them until it was enough and more to finish them all forever. Somebody had to speak for the dead, all of the victims of Umbrella, bring justice to their door and then march it on inside. It looked like that was their job, so he was itching to get started. The Colt Python Magnum on his table was the way he intended to make his point, to begin with at least. Just a matter of time...

"Barry? Is that you?" called out a soft, sleepy feminine voice softly, even as the owner walked into sight through the living room door, still trying to rub traces of sleep from her eyes. Less than five and a half feet tall the young woman, only eighteen years old, was close to a foot shorter than the six-foot three Barry and was dwarfed by his physical presence, but anyone who knew her would pointed out physical differences had never mattered that much to her. After all, her muscles were in her head, as Chris and Barry had been known to affectionately point out.

Short brown hair cut to well above her neck and soft brown eyes that gleamed with real intelligence shone as she looked at him. Smooth-faced and slim to the point of being thin, she was gently muscled rather than overwhelmingly physically fit, like most of the S.T.A.R.S. Agents, unsurprisingly given the fact her main job was to keep the others alive rather than fight. Her only clothing was a long, loose light-blue t-shirt belonging to Barry, meaning it swamped her, along with anything she was wearing under it, which he refused to speculate about.

The fact she was rarely called on to fight didn't mean she couldn't, though, as had been proven beyond a shadow of a doubt in the Arklay Mountains when she and a companion, who she said had been killed, had fought their way through a T-Virus infested Umbrella complex _before_ she had gone on to fight her way through the Spencer Mansion. Every one of the wounds she'd carried and the stories she'd told them later had carried the horrible ring of truth associated with Umbrella they'd all come to utterly loathe later.

Anyone who could do that had no need of reassurance about their skills, Barry himself would have been the first to admit that. The surviving S.T.A.R.S. would have been right behind him, despite their stated astonishment at the young woman's feats. The fact she was still alive told the whole story.

Her name was Rebecca Chambers, a recent advanced University Graduate who had joined the S.T.A.R.S to gain field experience before moving on to bigger and better things. Now, though, she was in the same boat as the rest of them-and she was fighting just as hard to get those responsible as the rest of them were.

"Yeah, sorry, didn't mean to wake you up. Just thinking out loud. How do you feel?" asked Barry, settling back into his chair more comfortably.

"Better, I think. I finally managed to get some sleep with the idea of you being on guard downstairs but I jumped out of bed, literally, when I heard a voice. Still ragged around the edges, I suppose, huge surprise. How about you? Any changes or good news? Thanks again for letting me stay here, by the way" she replied, running her fingers through her hair to try and make some kind of order out of the mess.

"No worries, its nice to have company. Nothing new, I'm still self-medicaticating so I don't leap up and start shooting at shadows and strange noises every time something shifts or moves slightly, no matter what the reason. I've managed to stop grabbing the gun every five minutes, anyway, that's a start" said Barry, with a smile as he sipped some more whiskey. Rebecca smiled back-just as the doorbell rang.

Their eyes locked momentarily, then Barry grabbed his gun and lurched to his feet. "Upstairs, get dressed and geared up. If you hear shooting jump out of a window and run, don't stop no matter what. I'll take care of this" he said, shoving his Magnum into his belt behind his back as he strode up to the front door, the quick patter of Rebecca's bare feet on carpet disappearing fast behind him. Bracing himself, one hand on his gun, he looked out the peephole-blinked, looked a second time, then unlocked and unbolted the door, throwing it open wide.

The man standing the other side of the door was even taller and broader than Barry, six and a half feet tall with the kind of massively physical granite-hard physique that wrestlers dreamed about, tight, hard muscle stretching clothes everywhere. With long limbs and a barrel chest, a big head set atop a thick neck looming over everything, the man looked able to wrestle a bear with his bare hands and kill with just his thumbs.

Shoulder-length jet-black hair highlighted an olive skin and beech-brown eyes, while a smooth face, easy agility and natural grace made no concession to or suggestion of the fact the man was pushing forty. Even wearing a white t-shirt, battered blue jeans and hard brown boots, a black leather jacket covering him like a cape, there was no mistaking the mans identity any more than there was a chance of failing to notice his penetrating presence.

Hard eyes always moving, body never completely still, mind always working as he took in everything and dissected it with a mind as sharp as a razors edge for vital meanings. He didn't miss anything, ever, one of things that had first drawn the S.T.A.R.S. to him when he'd been looking at enrolling in the Police Academy initially, straight out of University. It was also something Barry, who'd been recruited at the same time by the same people and been a friend of the man ever since, always noticed first.

His name was Martin Peyroux, Regional Commander of the S.T.A.R.S. organisation in the region that included Racoon City. A man who had been Barry Burton's good friend for sixteen years, who'd attended his Wedding, the Christening of his children, come to family Christmas parties and sent Barry's entire family gifts, without fail, every year on their respective birthdays and every Christmas.

He was also a man who lived by the book, unless lives were at risk and unorthodox action could save them, at which point he'd throw the book out of the window and jump in head first. One thing he _never_ did, though, was call unannounced. The fact he was here, like this, unexpected and uninvited? Barry felt something he didn't like shift in the back of his head. Something _bad_ was going on here...

"Hello Barry, been a while. Pardon the unexpected entrance, but people are watching, you know?" said Peyroux, calmly, his accent tinged by his native Greek linguistic origins, as ever. Peyroux's parents had come to the USA with him thirty years ago to get a new start away from the decaying old world of Europe, but he'd never lost all of the mannerisms or the accent completely somehow. Not that it mattered, he spoke, read and wrote four languages like a native.

"I know, good to see you too. Come on in, I have something to drink already laid out just by chance. Is anyone else here but you?" asked Barry, stepping back to allow Peyroux entry to his home before closing and locking the door behind him.

"Nobody even knows I'm here, Barry, I wanted a private conversation with you. Who's upstairs, by the way?" replied Peyroux, even as he followed Barry into the living room.

"A friend-here she is now. Martin Peyroux, Rebecca Chambers, the only survivor of S.T.A.R.S. Bravo team Racoon City. Rebecca Chambers, meet Martin Peyroux, Regional Director of S.T.A.R.S. in this region. Now you all know each other, can we sit down, drink and talk like civilised human beings?" asked Barry, pulling out another glass for Peyroux and half filling it before handing it over.

Peyroux took it absently, still looking at Rebecca, who was now wearing green camouflage leggings, brown climbing boots and a cream sleeveless t-shirt. She was also openly holding a gun in her right hand, her basic-issue 9MM pistol. The fact didn't appear to bother Peyroux at all, which didn't surprise Barry. After the first few times being shot, you noticed the pain far more than the shock of steel ripping flesh and muscle, sick but true. Peyroux simply wasn't afraid of being shot, even though he didn't want to die.

"You'll pardon my paranoia, but people calling at the dead of night after what we've been through tends to get me rattled, especially when you have an entity like Umbrella Corp. after you. Pleased to meet any friend of Barry's" said Rebecca, lowering her gun and walking forwards to shake Peyroux's hand, an act which got a warm response as he enthusiastically shook her hand.

"I've read a great deal about you, Rebecca, all of it good. I look forwards to hearing everything you have to tell me first hand and working with you at some point, but first-" said Peyroux, before the doorbell rang again. Everyone stopped and looked at one another, then Barry put his glass down and waved Rebecca over by Peyroux, who was suddenly holding an unusual looking long-barrelled black pistol. As she moved to stand close to the older Agent, Barry looked through the peephole again-and frowned.

He opened the door and found himself face-to-face with a big man of about his own size and weight, a man who was at most thirty years old, long, lean and hard-muscled in a way just simple exercise wouldn't develop. Long black hair, dark-brown eyes, tattoo's visible up and down both arms-_military_ tattoo's, Barry's memory informed him... Dressed in dark brown trousers, dark green combat vest and black combat boots the young man looked oddly familiar, even though Barry was sure they'd never met?

"Hi, Billy Coen? You don't know me, but I'm a friend of Rebecca Chambers and I _seriously_ need to talk to her right now. About all sorts of things, in fact, but right now staying alive is kind of critical. I understand she's here?" said Billy, hopefully.

Barry still didn't recognise the name, but the distinctive click of Peyroux removing the safety on his weapon was unmistakable. Peyroux only drew his weapon in times of imminent physical threat or when in mortal need unless ordered, with his physical capabilities and skills he didn't need firearms to get through to people and deal with threats. Clearly, he was threatened by this Billy Coen-but why?

"I know you, boy. You're on a Military Police shit list for Crimes Against Humanity and Mass Murder, just to begin with. You move, I kill you where you stand. Barry, call the National Guard barracks, they'll send out some MP's to take this bastard into custody" said Peyroux, his weapon held easily and ready in his hand. Barry had seen Peyroux shoot, he didn't miss. With the weapon he was holding? Coen would have been advised to choose a kneecap before even breathing again if he had escape in mind.

"Great, another shit-for-brains-its-always-that-simple straight up Cop sort. Has it occurred to you that if I was enough of a bastard to do all of that I'd have been in Mexico by now sipping Marguerites with a beautiful woman under each arm given when I escaped? Or do you just think US Rangers are born so stupid that they can be out-thought by anybody who tries? Smell the smelling salts, "boy", it all went pear-shaped and I caught the blame for being there, not for doing it. Shoot me now, you kill the innocent. Besides, haven't you heard? I'm legally dead. I'm just here to get Rebecca out of town before it all goes to Hell. Believe you me, its well on the way" said Coen, not even raising his hands as he stared straight back at Peyroux.

"Oh, for Gods sake stop posturing, you know he's not here to cause trouble or you're not much of an investigator. Billy-_what are you doing here_? Just because they think your dead doesn't mean the Military have given up trying to find a trace of you or your body, you know?" said Rebecca, pushing past Peyroux to stand between him and Coen. Barry wasn't sure what to do, so elected to hold back and see how things fell out. He knew Rebecca well enough to be sure that her sense of character was pretty good so her belief that this man was honest was a good start, no matter what his apparent history.

"I know that, sweetheart, but after what happened on the train, then in the Umbrella complex? Given the fact I had to watch you walk off into that mansion all by yourself to face monsters and the Undead? There was no way I was going to leave without checking up on you and on the situation here. Being dead gives you certain advantages, but so does Special Forces training. I've been where you can't go and I know where all the monsters are. I even know where they're going and what they're doing, which is worse.

This cities on the fast road to Hell and there's only one way out: running, right now, before they declare a State of Emergency, call in the National Guard to surround the city and start barricading the streets. They're already preparing to shut down all commercial flights in and out of the airport, so forget about that unless you've got a ticket in your hand right now. I've seen this happen before, once it gets started you'll only get out through the sewers if you're very lucky. With all of the monsters hereabouts? It'll be worse, ten thousand times worse. I'm leaving with Rebecca, now, come if your coming" said Coen, looking at each of the three people in the room in turn.

"Please, we can effect an orderly evacuation and the CDC can lock down the entire area long before all of that happens. If your going to come out with absurd threats, make sense-" replied Peyroux, only to be cut off by Barry.

"_But_, Umbrella Corporation could influence decisions taken in the White House with the money and political clout it has. On top of which, anyone who thinks that a company the size of Umbrella doesn't have major links with military, political and law-enforcement organisations which exist to allow it to do what it does successfully isn't looking at the full picture. If Umbrella wants this to happen, or just won't let the authorities get involved, were done. Trust me" said Barry, quietly but still easily loud enough for everyone to hear him. Coen winked, which Barry didn't need but appreciated. In this, they were both soldiers.

Peyroux didn't say anything thing for a long moment, then he sighed. "I see, good point. I still have trouble taking in all of this, but I knew there was no way you could have made up everything I read about in those reports-" he began, but Rebecca cut him off.

"Oh? You think there are parts we _did_ make up? Lets have some detail" snapped Rebecca, turning around sharply and getting right in Peyroux's face. She didn't flinch even when he stepped forwards and looked her right in the eyes, despite the fact Barry knew Peyroux had forced Special Forces soldiers onto the back foot with just the look in his eyes and the right words.

Yet again, he couldn't help but think, after what had happened in the Arklay Mountains and Spencer Mansion fear had new meaning for the survivors. Rebecca had gone from almost-timid University graduate to hardened soldier overnight, seeing her approaching what had once been "normal" when she actually managed to relax was becoming a rare sight. He didn't think he liked the change, but the fact was if they were going to have to go to War with Umbrella Corporation? That was the kind of change which would keep her alive, or at least vastly improve on her chances. That, he _did_ like.

"I think I like you, Rebecca-but I _don't_ like him. How did he convince you he didn't do all those things he's accused of? Give you his word? Explain himself in a way which made too much sense? Give you a token which made you believe he could be trusted? I've met every kind of bastard there is, Rebecca. Believe me, the worst have been the smartest one's and nobody stupid gets into the Rangers. Until I see physical proof, I reserve the right to kill you at any time, boy" said Peyroux, snapping out his words at Coen.

In response, Rebecca pulled a pair of metal tags out from under her t-shirt. Dog Tags, Peyroux quickly realised-one's with Coen's name and number on them.

"He gave me these and told me the truth. Where we were, doing what we were doing, it was pretty "intense", you understand that? We had no time for lies and screwing around in any sense of the word would have gotten us both killed. I know he told me what actually happened, it's up to you to accept the facts. Now either shoot him or shut up" she said, her voice calm and controlled, even though Barry could see that she was seriously considering punching Peyroux in the face in an effort to get through to him.

Peyroux had no immediate answer to Rebecca's words, so didn't say anything. Before he could, the telephone rang. Barry picked it up and put it to his ear, hoping it would be his Wife but sure it wouldn't be. After some of the more disturbing messages he'd been receiving of late, he'd seriously been considering disconnecting the phone for good. He only hadn't because his house was the closest thing the S.T.A.R.S. survivors had left to a Safe House after everything, since they knew he'd never abandon it while there was any choice. "Hello?" he asked, wondering who or what it would be this time.

"_Barry! It's Amber! I need you and the others at Jill's apartment RIGHT NOW!_" came Ambers voice down the line, the young woman almost screaming over what had to be the howling winds of the storm. Thunder rolled outside, so heavy that he heard Amber yelp even as a lightning flash almost immediately followed the echoing crash. She had to be outside somewhere?

"Amber, slow down. What's going on? Has something happened to Jill?!" replied Barry, the urgency in his voice and what he was saying getting the attention of everyone else in the room so abruptly they all stopped what they were doing to listen.

"_NO! Well...I don't think so, but it's Chris! I was there when his apartment was attacked by...I can't say that over a public phone! Just THEM! LOOK: I took a fall out of a high window escaping and my mobile got smashed on the ground. I'm calling you from a public phone about half a block from Chris's place and I can see his building. It's on fire, okay?! I called Jill first but she didn't answer the phone and I don't know why! Is she there? If the building IS full of them and the RCPD and Fire Crews walk in on them, can you imagine what will happen?! We need to get Jill and take care of this right now! Come on, hurry up and get down here!_" shouted Amber, her near-hysteria giving away the fact she'd just been through something awful.

More to the point, Barry trusted Jill Valentine to choose friends who were like her, able to keep their heads on straight in a crisis. He'd met Amber, knew her well enough to be sure she could and would keep it together under almost any circumstances. Whatever she was telling him, what was happening had to be worse for her to be acting like she was.

"Okay, keep it together, were on our way. See you at Jill's in ten. Watch your back, bye" said Barry, before slamming the phone down and running past everyone for his gun closet, inside a secured metal cabinet built into the hall wall.

"Barry! What's going on?" called Rebecca, first out the door behind him even as he spun the combination lock to the correct positions to open the closet. He was going to need bigger guns for this.

"They've gone after Chris and Jill's missing, so were going to Jill's to find out what's going on before we find Chris RIGHT NOW. All arguments and discussion are now done, end of. You know how to use one of these?" asked Barry, holding out a Carbine rifle. She didn't have the muscle, stamina or training to use some of the bigger weapons, but she had a good eye and the rifle gave her greater range if she could use it. He wasn't particularly surprised when she made a fairly professional job of checking the load and sights before nodding her thanks.

"I've been taking tips from Jill since...well, I felt I needed to know how to use a big gun" she said, almost looking embarrassed. He just grinned at her, an expression she answered after a second. He'd suspected as much.

"I heard that, Barry. You know what I need, do you have one?" asked Peyroux, striding into sight, looking grim.

"Of course" replied Barry, pulling out a pump-action cold grey steel Combat Shotgun and a box of shells. Peyroux took the weapon and loaded it before performing a complete run-through which would have impressed a military drill sergeant. He loaded the spare shells into a pocket that was clearly designed for purpose. Peyroux was never caught off-guard, that Barry never forgot.

"You could use a hand and all I've got is five rounds in a nine mil I picked up in the Arklay Mountains. I'm checked out on weapons you won't even have heard of, just tell me what you have for me" said Coen, looking pointedly at the gun cabinet.

Barry thought about it, then pulled out a disassembled suitcase-secured weapon which he tossed to Coen, following it with an ammunition clip. "Put that together, you can have it" he said, not looking at Coen even as he armed himself with a 9MM backup and Shotgun.

Coen opened the suitcase, whistled and got to work. Less than ninety seconds later he'd assembled, loaded and cocked the long, black weapon, holding it in a way which said he'd used it plenty of times before.

"An AK-74, nice, big gun, lots of bullets, does real damage. Pity there's no grenade launcher, but I'll go with what I've got. Some spare clips for my weapons?" he asked, smiling as he almost caressed his new weapon. Barry tossed him two spare clips for both of his weapons, then passed out the same to everyone including himself.

Coen, Barry noticed with a practiced eye, also had steel knuckledusters hidden in his pocket, the shape pressed against his thigh giving them away. It was a good idea, so Barry took a switchblade for himself and passed a weighted Billy club to Rebecca, sure Peyroux already had something nasty on him. Peyroux promptly produced a large hunting knife from his left upper thigh, where it had been concealed in a sheath hidden by his dark jacket up to that point.

All done, Barry shut and locked the cabinet then, as the others hurried out to the family SUV Barry drove, he locked up the house quick before running off to join them. The last thing he needed was to be burgled, or worse, by some teenage idiot while he was away...

Y

The Mall was a three-storey structure made largely of plastic and glass, from what Serena could see, with stone wall making up the superstructure and foundations while a flat roof contained highlights and advertising signs so bright they lit up the sky all around the structure. She guessed its dimensions at half a mile square, maybe larger, with any number of entrances and exits, likely state-of-the-art security systems being used to monitor it all. She could see a half a dozen major brands being advertised over still-open shops, some of them multi-level, with people in them from half a mile away-which was good, the more people the safer they'd be.

_Theoretically_ at least, she had to admit to herself. This _was_ Umbrella, if human life meant anything to them they'd never have gotten started on their insane experiments and plans, ever. No, it was just less likely that Umbrella would come after them here, not impossible, to say "impossible" would have been naïve.

Taking the direct approach as they ran up to it, Serena kicked open one of the front doors and stormed inside, taking in the whole area with one look. Some loitering teenagers, a four level white marble fountain ten feet tall, decorative stonework making up the ground floor with metal walkways and banisters covered by various bright plastics forming the rest. Shop fronts advertising everything imaginable except sex and violence, half a dozen young adult shoppers looking around at her and Chris as they barged in, looks of curiosity changing to worry and even terror as the two men looked at her chest first, exposed by her torn and almost unbuttoned shirt.

Two elevators, large glass bubbles running on metal rails, a tall staircase rising back and forth to all levels. All white-painted or simply brightly-coloured one way or another, massively over-lit by too-bright lights that could have illuminated the surface of the moon.

"How to be obvious" in the late 20th century, a textbook example. If people weren't looking at it and therefore you? You weren't selling, so you were unemployed. Ideas like that always reminded her of just why she never, ever went on shopping trips to places like this, why she wouldn't set foot in Wal-Mart. The one time she had, within five minutes a rep had been trying to get her to sign an exclusive contract to model their wares for them and had been unwilling to take no for an answer. She'd just left, never looking back.

She spotted men in brown security guard uniforms moving quickly on the first floor, heading their way. Some of the people who could see them clearly on the ground floor were pulling out mobiles and dialling 911, not that she was worried. The ETC had a trigger program buried deep inside every federal and local database and computer system which automatically prevented any details, images and even comments being recorded by any authority regarding anyone who worked for the ETC whose ID was somehow flagged. Being spotted, even Arrested was one thing, that could be handled. What she was worried about here was some have-a-go "hero" trying to either grab her or pull a weapon on her. If they did she'd have to kill them and she didn't want that.

Of course, she couldn't really blame anyone who tried it. She was speckled in blood, barely wearing a torn shirt damaged by violence, had scorched hair, was still wreathed in the traces of smoke and fire from Chris's apartment building and, last but not least, she was armed, openly carrying a shotgun and holstered pistol. The fact she'd have caught the eye, even in the state she was in, in a room full of beautiful women just didn't help. Her looks were an advantage more often than not, but not here.

Then there was Chris, bruised, battered, bloody and scorched, topless and openly armed Chris, wild-eyed and stinking of the cordite stench that spelt out recent gunfire to anyone who knew it. That was a problem they both had, but there was nothing to be done yet.

"Okay, lady, we don't want any trouble, just put the gun down, okay? You too, man" said one of the four security guards approaching them. All of them were relatively young men, not one of them past forty, all slightly overweight, not very fit and the kind of people who ended up in a job like they had because they didn't have the brains to do something else. Looking at each of them in turn, she saw exactly what she'd expected. She was an excellent judge of character, she had to be-and she knew no-hopers when she saw them. In the army, they'd have been the type sent in first to get rid of the chaff by commanding officers.

It didn't change the fact they had some sense about them. Two were holding back, hands on gun butts, while two were stepping forwards, hands on nightsticks. She could have killed them all with her bare hands before they could fire with them standing only six feet away, but she wasn't going to do that. However, she wasn't going to surrender her weapon, either. So-

"Officers, my name is Chris Redfield, I'm a S.T.A.R.S. officer. I'm sure you've read about my "exploits" in the newspapers and heard about it all on the radio, but I need you to understand that this is not a joke and I am not crazy. A group of people has just tried to kill us and we barely got out alive. We need your help, so by all means call the RCPD and tell them to come pick us up here. Just don't try and disarm us until then" said Chris, stepping forwards, managing to make himself sound cool, calm and collected with what she could tell was some effort. The security guards paused and looked at each other, then at a tall blond man in particular. He stepped forwards, looking directly at Chris.

"Chris Redfield, my name is Aaron Yeager, Brad Vickers is my cousin. He might be a cowardly jerk but he knows his job and he's better with people than you think he is. He always said you could be trusted, so I'll extend you both the courtesy if you answer my question honestly. Were your attackers people or not?" asked Yeager, staring at Chris keenly.

"I didn't know Brad _had_ a cousin... No, they weren't. Look into my eyes, this is the _truth_" replied Chris, his eyes locking with Yeager's. Yeager paused for a long minute, then he nodded slowly.

"I believe you. Brad was worried what happened out in the mountains and forests would come here, its one of the reasons the little guy ran. So, just how much trouble are you two _in_?" asked Yeager, crossing his arms and raising an eyebrow even as the other guards visibly relaxed, although one who appeared to be only about twenty years old with stringy dark hair and grey eyes set about a pimply face looked uncomfortable doing it. The people watching all of this were just staring at Yeager now.

A series of harsh metal clicks sounded suddenly, followed by rattling noises from all directions as motors started up. Metal security barriers started to descend over the entrances and exits of almost every shop while lowering down over every door and window. People shouted and yelled, some of the quicker one's making it into the main area before the barriers locked them inside whatever shop they were in. People started to panic, some banging helplessly on the still-lowering barriers while others called out for help and threatened to sue.

Serena turned around 360 degrees in a smooth clockwise turn, took in the fact everything everywhere was being secured and looked at Yeager, not even bothering to try and get back outside. She knew the initial clicks they'd all heard had been the doors locking shut and, while she could have shot out a window and escaped in time, she wasn't leaving Chris behind.

"It's a lockdown, designed to secure the entire building against security threats. It can only be initiated or overridden from the main Security office on the top floor, but there's no reason for it to be happening like this. We called the RCPD, there's no way they'll be able to get in without blasting through the security barriers. What the hells he _doing_? Matt? Are you up there, man?" said Yeager, calling out into his shoulder-mounted radio. There was no answer, not even after Yeager, starting to look worried, tried for a second time.

The lights went out, although they were replaced almost immediately by dull, pale emergency lighting which almost lit up the area sufficiently for people to move around safely. More dull clanks sounded, as though doors were being reopened, but Serena knew better given where her sharp ears told her the noises were coming from. The doors being unlocked were _inside_ the building.

"Déjà vu, Serena?" muttered Chris, moving in close to her, gun held ready in his hand as his muscles tensed. She just glanced back at him, she didn't say anything because she didn't need to. He could read what she was thinking in her eyes.

"Matt? _Matt_?! What the hells going on?! What are you doing up there?!" called out Yeager, with increasing frustration.

Seconds later a single gunshot sounded, faint and far overhead, but nobody needed to guess where it was coming from. Yeager went pale even as she watched, clearly having understood exactly what had happened, although maybe not the full consequences. Whether or not he'd been talking to Brad before the man pulled his disappearing act, no matter what he'd read or heard, he couldn't have any real idea what was coming next.

Doors thumped open on every level, thumping footsteps sounding all over, the kind which shuffled everywhere. Serena felt her heart sink as she counted the numbers. She could make out maybe, at a very rough guess, sixty, with far more coming. She wasn't immortal and she didn't have explosives or a means of escape. This was very, _very bad_...

"The lines dead" muttered somebody trying their mobile phone, a young blonde woman who had to be all of nineteen years old. Young, pretty, fashionably dressed in the latest good clothes-and about to die in them, Serena did not doubt.

"So is everyone else" said Serena, looking up and around as the now-familiar hissing and moaning sounds filled the air, even as the first decaying walking corpse, missing its entire left cheek and eye, appeared at the banister on the first floor and started growling with a ruined windpipe that made its growl a peculiar rumbling noise. It was quickly joined by more, then more started to appear on the other floors, all making that same awful sound, only for the first few Zombies to come looming out of the shadows on the ground floor from all directions. Serena's estimate of their numbers rose sharply to a minimum of two hundred.

"This is going to be fun..." she muttered, even as screams, howls of terror and even prayers for mercy started to sound out from everywhere. Even from inside the shops, where Zombies were appearing and going after everything in sight, men, women and children fleeing for their lives in any and all directions...

/End of Part Five. All Reviews appreciated/.


	6. Chapter 6

For all disclaimers: see earlier parts.

**Sentences **

/August 1st, 1998, Racoon City/

The young, pimply-faced security guard started them off by doing the last thing Serena would have expected. He whimpered for a moment, then pulled his gun, put it in his mouth and shot himself. The muffled crack of gunfire echoed as the back of the youths head exploded, blood, skull and brain fragments coated with tatters of flesh spraying the other security guards like confetti from Hell. Only Yeager even reacted, yelping and leaping away from the collapsing body with a shout, looking horrified. The two other security guards were too shocked to move, with reason, just like almost everyone else.

Things stumbled into view which had no business being upright, let alone mobile. Men and women's bodies, young and old, of every ethnicity and form, in numbers almost too awful to contemplate. All of them...moved wrong, injured, weakened in some way apart from the visual. Broken bones, torn ligaments, the effects of beating in life reflected in odd postures in death. Massive, gaping wounds existed on and in some, caved in ribcages, shattered faces, shredded arms and legs, mutilated body parts, bits of the human form just _missing_-but, despite the massively evident bloodstains on the remnants of clothes and uniforms, not one of the wounds was bleeding. None of the "injured" were displaying signs of mortal injuries in the way even those so close to death only chance kept them on their feet would have. The dull emergency lights didn't show much, but that was _too_ much.

Screams and shouts erupted everywhere, from the few people who weren't already either screaming or shouting. Nobody, from what Serena could make out over the garbled mess of language, knew what was going on nor what they were up against, or had the slightest idea what was going on. But that wasn't stopping the noise, pushing and shoving.

Thirty Zombies were on the ground floor approaching the main group, including the surviving security guards, Serena and Chris. More were on the same level, but were trapped behind the steel security barriers which were too strong for them to break through, she was certain. Unfortunately, that just meant the scattered few who'd been in the shops when the shutters came down were already dead, there was nothing anyone could do to help them now. She'd have needed grenades or a machine gun at the very least to be thinking about stepping in herself.

"What. The. FUCK?!" shouted Yeager, pulling his gun with trembling hands and aiming in the general direction of the nearest of the Zombies before firing once. He hit the elderly male Zombie in the chest, hard enough to stagger it, but didn't even slow it down.

"Save your ammo or AIM FOR THE HEAD! Chris! Yeager! WEAPONS!" barked Serena, levelling the shotgun and dropping two Zombies with two shots, their heads pulverised masses of red blood and meat tangles, reloading almost as quickly as she could crack the gun open.

"First floor gun shop! Second floor hunting shop! Third has the Security office with the heavy stuff!" called out Chris, even as Yeager pointlessly shot another Zombie in the chest, this time failing even to stagger the overweight male.

"We can release the Lockdown from the Security office, so that's where were going. Stay alive and don't get bitten! GO!" snapped Serena, before aiming the shotgun straight at the Zombies between her and the nearest staircase. Five Zombies were in the way, the double-barrelled shotgun blast dropped three, although the last slowly started to get back up with a huge chunk of its left-side face missing. The last two kept coming, so she charged those left standing.

"Hey! HEY! We can't just leave all of these people-!" shouted Chris, dropping three Zombies with flawless headshots even as he half-tried to follow her, half-tried to back up the shaken Yeager who still hadn't heard her orders. She almost ignored Chris, but couldn't ultimately do it.

Sometimes, she honestly thought she'd have to kill him to get him out of her head and keep herself alive and sane. That very fact made sure she'd never do exactly that, because he was one of very few things left which honestly connected her to whatever passed for her humanity now. She'd given up almost everything for the cause, in the name of necessity and need, an Assassin had no place and no business existing in "polite" society and that was all there was to know. Almost, though, was the right word.

She had Chris, she had her brother, even her broken father, all of them links to who she'd once been before...all of this. She had the memory of her mothers touch, her scent, her voice a whisper in her ears. She had the fact she _knew_ she was fighting the good fight, keeping the world safe for a better tomorrow, even if that world was one which would ultimately be controlled, maybe even ruled, by the USA. She had the fact she was still capable of caring about other human beings-even if Jianna was questionable in that respect, since humanity was practically just the beginning where that woman was concerned.

While she still had things she could care about, that anchored her, made her real and human, she could go on like this as long as she had to. If she lost those things? Any or all of them? One day, she had no doubt at all, they would find her dead, a smile on her face, a gun in her hand, a note by her side, reading simply: _I did my duty_. She just _couldn't_ loose Chris, whether or not he understood anything at all about what he really meant to her. She swore and span around for a few seconds, using her momentum to do it before spinning back around to her original path.

"No, _you_ can't. If we stay in here were dead, so I'm going to get us _out_. Form them up, get them armed and tell them what to do, Chris, you did it in Iraq and you can do it here. Lead them out. GO!" she shouted, then completed her spin and body-slammed the badly damaged Zombie to the ground. She Leopard-Punched its nose up into its brain, rolled over it without stopping and slashed a high kick at the left-hand Zombie with such force she snapped its head to a right angle against its shoulder even as its neck broke like kindling wood.

Without slowing down she performed a corkscrew kick in mid air and landed a double-footed charge to the last Zombies chest, its ribs snapping and splintering like falling timber even as it suffered massive internal injuries which would have dropped anything alive before it even knew it was dead from shock. Landing right in front of the battered Zombie she threw a karate punch with such force that the Zombie was catapulted six feet backwards through the air even as its jaw and neck audibly snapped under the impact, even before she began running again.

More Zombies were coming down the stairs or grouping at the top, twenty foot above her. With no time for lengthy battles she used speed instead of strength and ran past the Zombies, using their greatest weakness against them as she ducked and weaved so fast they didn't even register the movements with almost-blind eyes. Reaching the very top she cut a sharp left and hurdled the guardrail in a fast, spinning roll, dodging Zombies as they tried to reach out for her from above. The shotguns butt proved a more than adequate close-quarter weapon as she span it around in her hands like a quarterstaff before using the blunt butt to break arms and shatter jaws, forcing three more Zombies out of her way, casting them off in all directions in a display of determined ferocity and skill that would have scared anyone who didn't know her like Chris did.

Casting around for the gun shop even as she ran to keep the Zombies off of her, she spotted it and gained maybe her first break of the night. "_Jones Guns_" it was called-and it was shut down by a manually locked security barrier the owner had to have set up by himself, two padlocks evident. That, she could handle. Unfortunately, over forty Zombies were not going to let her just pick the locks, which meant plan B. That, to her, always meant the direct approach. To be honest, though, she actually preferred that, being subtle was only of some good when you needed to be silent. Here, now, she could be as loud as the end of the world and nobody would care. She was actually quite looking forwards to it.

"Come and get me, you rotten bags of flesh and muck! Tell the Devil I say hi when you DIE! TELL HIM THE REAPER SENT YOU" she roared, her voice echoing around the structure. That said she aimed, fired and charged.

Y

Barry Burton drove his SUV through the streets to pick up Amber en route to Jill's so fast he left skid marks on every corner, every one of his passengers clinging on tight and silently saying over and over again they were all very glad they had seatbelts. He knew the streets like the back of his hand and, given the time of night, he could keep his foot all the way down without much fear of traffic. Right now, that was definitely a good thing. A very good thing.

"What the hell am I seeing?" asked Peyroux abruptly, staring not far ahead of them through the windscreen at a massive dark smudge in the sky, a colour so dark that it stood out against storm clouds, a blanket of something thick enough whipping winds weren't dispersing it. The lower down the column one looked the more apparent an orange-red glow became, one emanating from what had to be a fair-sized building. Barry knew where Chris lived and he felt his heart sink as he took in the sight. For that sort of burn? The whole building had to have been completely torched by now...

"Chris's apartment building is on fire, isn't it, Barry?" said Rebecca, quietly. He knew it wasn't a question.

"Yes, it is, but Amber said there was some kind of fight there and you know what Chris is like when you get him angry with a gun. If there's a way out he would have been gone before the building even got warm. If it was Zombies they sent after him, he definitely made it. Hold on, there's Amber" replied Barry, spotting a slim figure with strawberry blonde hair standing near a phone box waving like she was trying to take off using only one hand. He pulled up next to her so sharply the tires smoked, but Amber was climbing in through the door Rebecca had thrown open and he was flooring it again within ten seconds. No time to waste.

"Those really exist? Great, I was hoping to hear everything there really was to before I tried a spot of hand-to-hand combat with the Undead, but if we've got friends in trouble then beggars can't be choosers. I take it the head shot doesn't do them any good?" asked Peyroux, as calmly as he would discuss a walk in the park. Barry just grinned, same old Peyroux, solid and utterly reliable right on through the gates of Hell.

"It makes them itch and then they die. Just remember all they really need is to draw blood and you are officially AWOL from the human race for good" replied Billy Coen, his tone of voice conversational. Peyroux didn't react to the other mans statement, but Barry knew he was soaking everything all of the information like a sponge and processing it like a supercomputer. Peyroux didn't and never had made mistakes.

"Alright, STOP... Can we try this again? Who are you two and what the hell are you doing here?" Amber practically yelled, finally managing to seat herself and buckle her seatbelt up.

"The one with tattoo's is Billy Coen, convicted War Criminal and man guilty of every Human Rights abuse in the book, ex-US Rangers. He's technically a fugitive, but he's legally dead and he was set up for things he didn't do, so it's kind of tricky. The big guy is Martin Peyroux, Regional Director of S.T.A.R.S., on a flying visit, kinda. They're here to help. Can we go through the details later?" replied Rebecca, through almost gritted teeth as she hung onto the seat grimly following one of Barry's more interesting attempts at a sharp corner, one which briefly put the SUV on two wheels.

Amber's eyes widened, then she just shook her head and sighed. "After the evening I've had, I think I'd believe you if you'd said they were Sherlock Holmes and Al Capone. Long story-_jeez_, Barry! Can we get there alive, maybe?!" said Amber, her voice rising to a shout briefly as the SUV dodged past a truck so close that Rebecca could have reached out through an open window and touched the trucks front grill.

"We will, this is just how I drive when someone shouts the word ZOMBIES in my ear. Okay, were here, go go go" said Barry, pulling up to the kerb with a fast twist of the wheel and application of the brakes. Everyone piled out of the SUV, slamming doors and running ahead into the building, up the stairs towards Jill's room at considerable speed. Barry was last, having paused to lock the SUV up tight so their transportation didn't go missing, or end up with missing pieces.

Rebecca led the way at a dead run, with Amber so close behind her they were almost tripping over one another's feet. Billy Coen and Peyroux were taking the stairs three at a time and both men could clearly have easily outdistanced both women, but neither knew where Jill's apartment was. Barry was no sprinter, but one thing he'd never lacked was stamina, or the ability to put his head down and charge like a bull to get somewhere fast when he needed to. Like he needed to now, in fact, so he put his head down and charged up the stairs so fast the pounding of his boots didn't seem to break up second to second even as he moved, very quickly.

Rebecca was in front, but when they reached the level Jill's apartment was on the taller Amber's longer legs finally gave her the advantage and she took off like she'd been fired from a cannon. Peyroux passed Rebecca even faster, so fast that he was practically blurring even as he took off after Amber at a flat-out sprint, but Coen slowed down to make sure he didn't leave the still hard-running Rebecca behind, a fact that Barry couldn't help but notice.

He didn't miss the slight smile Coen shot Rebecca, either, nor the way she returned his look. Evidently they'd forged more than a bond of friendship during their experiences in the Arklay Mountain forests and Umbrella facility, because if he wasn't watching the slow-burn development of a definitely serious physical relationship then he was a three-headed Martian descended from Genghis Kahn through Elvis Presley.

Just as he reached Jill's floor, he heard a startled shout of "What the _FUCK-_?!" from up ahead. Peyroux's voice. _Now_ what had happened-or maybe who?

Y

Chris Redfield was in Hell. He was armed with only a half-empty gun, half-naked, lightly cooked and scared half to death. He was surrounded by thirteen people who were all far more scared than he was, facing off against walking human corpses better described as biological weapons which could only be stopped by a bullet in the brain. Only three of those people were armed, only one of them still seemed to be capable of acting as opposed to reacting and everyone else was too busy screaming, crying or shouting hysterical nonsense to be anything other than a fatal distraction.

Even better, they were all trapped in a shopping mall with no possibility of escape or refuge. They were locked in the broadest, flattest area of the mall, they were surrounded by Zombies who literally wanted to eat them alive-and anybody who was so much as wounded by a Zombie would turn into one, only making things worse every time. He'd heard of textbook situations where you followed specific instructions, did and did not do certain things, did and did not go to certain places, instructions which could and would get you out of even the worst set-ups. He'd heard a professional could always find a way out of a bad situation, because that was what they did.

He'd also heard about the tradition of what you do when you know you're screwed in the military: you put your head between your legs and kiss your ass goodbye. Rule 101 of basic strategising: if the enemy has superior numbers, the high ground and greater force of arms, you are dead. "Don't run, you'll only die tired" as Serena had sometimes reminded him. Serena wasn't available right now, though, which left it all up to him-and he'd done enough ass-kissing in his lifetime to NEVER want to do any more, which meant they had to get out of here alive. This was going to be fun...

A bloodcurdling scream erupted, suddenly and just as suddenly cut off, from a nearby shop. A young woman trapped inside the shop had been disembowelled by a Zombie using its bare hands, which had then gone on to start eating her intestines in front of her. She'd screamed in terror and agony, then died of pain and shock. That just settled it.

"Anyone wants to live, stay close to me and listen! Grab a weapon, anything you can find, go for the heads and mangle the brains if you can, cripple them if you can't. Head upstairs for the security office, fast as you can! Move move MOVE!" he shouted, loudly enough to be sure he'd got their attention. The boom of a shotgun from the next level up helped, everyone had seen Serena fight and the fact she was still alive up there could only help.

For a moment longer everyone just seemed to stagger around, almost drunkenly, then Yeager finally woke up and managed to shoot a Zombie in the head, the Zombies head erupting flesh and bone before it collapsed like it had been supported by a rubber band attached to its skull. At that, everyone went crazy.

Cans, bottles and even car keys were suddenly being thrown at Zombies in all directions, some smashing with a distinct whiff of strong perfume and alcohol. A slim man in his late fifties pulled out a very large bottle of whiskey, opened it, took a long swig, then sighed and stuffed his handkerchief down it before pulling out a lighter. Lighting the handkerchief before Chris could stop him, he took aim and threw the bottle with a strong over arm toss. The bottle hit a Zombie full in the face-and it immediately caught fire with a massive wash of heat and light.

Other Zombies staggered away from the burning one, even as it kept trying to walk towards the surviving humans, the floor being scorched everywhere it stepped. All Chris could think and do was hope he was wrong about the fire possibly, maybe probably, spreading.

"Eat _that_, you bastards-!" shouted someone, even as Chris wrenched clear of the melee and took off for the stairs, pausing even as Zombies left and right slowly turned to face him. He dropped three more and wounded two before he ran out of bullets, his weapon very loudly clicking on empty. That really wasn't good...

He turned back to yell for the others to come on, only to nearly be bowled over as the nineteen year old blonde girl ran straight past him and sprayed what he suspected was Mace into the nearest Zombies face, which totally failed to affect it. The teenage man went past him too and went for the brutal option, landing a massive kick in a Zombies groin before head-butting it as hard as he could when the impact of his kick doubled it over. There was a terrible crack before both the Zombie and the teenager went over, only the Zombie started to get back up where the man didn't. Chris suspected he'd fractured his skull with the almighty impact.

Yeager came running and shot the two nearest Zombies, two shots for the first one for the second, dropping both as his aim improved. He grabbed a magazine off of his belt and tossed it to Chris even as he aimed at the Zombies coming at them from above and all sides, the two surviving other security guards caught up in the Zombie mob behind them as they tried to reach the small beachhead Chris and Yeager had somehow established. Even as Chris watched a Zombie got its teeth into one mans throat and wrenched its mouth clear with a thick spray of arterial blood. The mans brief, drowning scream was subhuman before he fell.

"RELOAD!" shouted Yeager, as more and more Zombies turned towards them, smelling the escaping live meat. Chris smoothly ejected his spent magazine and loaded the new one, the mag sliding home easily. He looked around sharply, talking in the scene. The burning Zombie was getting closer, one right beside it having what looked like house keys sticking out of its head, a sight so surreal Chris was briefly forced to stop and stare, despite the situation, before he tore himself away from it.

"Aim high, were taking the high road out of here!" shouted Chris, taking his own advice and aiming at the Zombies on the stairs. Yeager matched him and they opened fire, a concentrated barrage briefly killing or dropping enough Zombies for a fast human to run past. Chris heard a yell and turned to see the blond teenage woman literally wrestling the Zombie she'd tried to Mace, which had hold of her by both arms. Evidently more conventionally minded than the young man, she slammed a massive punch to its face before it could bite her, snapping its head back sharply with a broken nose, before planting both feet against its chest and shoving back and away as hard as she could. Her shirt sleeves tore clean off and Chris spotted huge red marks on her arms where she'd been grabbed by the Zombie, but it worked and she got loose, being the first person to run up the stairs past and over the scattered Zombies.

The ageing man who'd thrown the improvised bomb made out of a whiskey bottle was next, fast on his feet despite his age. After him five more made it, followed by the only other remaining security guard, gun gone, a hand clamped over a massive wound on his left upper arm where blood was pouring out, a sight which made Chris's eyes open wide. Three gone already, Chris couldn't help but notice...

A trail of particularly battered-looking Zombies marked Serena's passage, all of them sporting broken bones and beating injuries which could only be the result of a brutal but professional attack by someone who was armed but with limited time. Zombies on the stairs were getting up again, some of them with fresh blood in their mouths and on their hands, while more were approaching from all directions. Then he saw it, _Jones Guns_-and he saw the distinctive, tall figure of Serena coming out, carrying a weapon he hadn't seen before in one hand, a big, long-barrelled black weapon that looked designed to do serious damage. In the other-

"GRENADE!" he screamed, before throwing himself flat and hoping everyone else knew what he was doing, so followed him down. Today was just getting more and more interesting...

Y

Serena's final shotgun blast before she ran for the shop knocked over or destroyed half a dozen Zombies, after which she switched grips on the shotgun and wielded it like a quarterstaff. Two more Zombies got in the way, but she broke both the knees of one before driving it backwards through a shop window with the stock of a shotgun, then span around in a low snapped kick that took the seconds Zombies feet out from under it with such force it span right over twice in midair before landing with a crack of breaking bone.

Leaping to her feet she hurdled the still-moving badly damaged Zombies lying around her and reached the gun shop in less than ten seconds. About thirty more Zombies started to stagger towards her as she moved, attracted by the sounds of fast movement and gunfire-as well as the scent of warm, living flesh and blood, she was sure. It was irrelevant for the moment, none of them were close enough to do anything at all, excepting the battered one's on the floor. She stamped on the head of one of the damaged one's as she cracked the shotgun and reloaded, smearing blood, bone and brain across the floor even as she stepped up close to the locked security barrier.

She aimed and fired at both padlocks, one after the other, point blank without hesitation. The recoil almost staggered her, but the close-range force of the blasts shattered the padlocks completely and actually lifted the security barrier a good three inches off of the ground. She jammed the still-smoking shotgun under the barrier before it could come down, wincing as pain speared through her side from her injured arm, then used the leverage the shotgun gave her added to simple brute strength and levered the barrier up as fast as she possibly could. It rattled up its runners so fast she thought it might fly right off before clanging against its stops so hard the sound echoed throughout the building. She was inside and reloading her shotgun before the echoes died away, smiling like the cat who'd got the cream.

Her kind of place, even if she was never going to actually pay for any of it. Fully-auto, semi, rifles and handguns, boxes and boxes of ammunition of all descriptions excepting military issue, all locked away in glass cages reinforced by steel structures surrounding them-likely reinforced glass, maybe even bullet proof. A till in the centre of the room atop a table with a stool behind it, pointless unless she either wanted to throw them or had nothing sharp available to fight with. Plastic white floors, grey steel walls and ceiling-heavy steel security door at the back, where the really nasty stuff would be held.

She went for it, even as some of the badly damaged Zombies started to rise slowly back to their feet, trying to drag themselves into the shop by hand if they couldn't stand for some reason. The growling and hissing noises held her attention, but the door was a problem. It was electronically locked, the kind of circuit that was partially built into the door and went to automatic Lockdown in the event of a power failure, signified by a dull red light.

Without explosives it was something she suspected wasn't intended to be bypassed, only the correct five-digit code would override the Lockdown and open the door. Codes were a thing well within her expertise to crack or solve, but with close to forty Zombies each coming for their pound of flesh? It was time to try something crazy.

She hammered on the outside structure of the lock with the butt of the shotgun, which was covered and secured by a steel plate forged into an overlapping shell shape around it. A few seconds harsh hammering at specific points loosened the shell, then forced it loose enough to allow her to reach inside with clever fingers as she peered inside with a determination born of a form of desperation she would never admit to. She twisted wiring, shifted circuits around to what she hoped were the right places-then deliberately shorted out a certain circuit, giving herself a mild electric shock in the process. The door thumped as the light changed to green, then swung partially open.

Under any other circumstances, opening a secured door like that would have sent an emergency alarm to local law enforcement and possibly the FBI. On top of which, it would probably have gotten her shot no questions asked. With the power out? All it did was change the gloom to a slighter lighter colour. If only it was always that easy...

She wrenched the door the rest of the way open and grinned in a way which suggested she was a Lion eyeing a particularly fat and slow meal which was peacefully grazing just a short leap away. Explosives, heavy artillery, what looked like Military-issue MA-80's-she made a mental note to find out who owned this shop-and enough in the way of heavy firepower to take on a Special Forces unit backed up by a company of Marines. Her idea of Heaven on a bad day. Hurrying inside as she sensed movement behind her, she put the shotgun down on the floor and picked up the MA-80, checking it was fully functional before sliding home a clip and chambering a shell. That done, she rotated smoothly, weapon to her shoulder and aimed high.

A Zombie lunged at her, so she shot it in the face and the powerful gun threw the dead-again body backwards through the doorway so hard and fast it didn't stop for ten feet. Advancing slowly, she spotted her targets and dropped one target with every shot, expertly drilling a new fatal wound in the head with each bullet. Once she was clear of the secure room, seven Zombies down, she simply opened up on fully automatic and sprayed the room at head height before emptying the magazine at knee level, the hailstorm of lead death dropping everything standing even as the occasional ricochet shrieked and whined off of the walls and ceiling.

The MA-80 wasn't a subtle gun and she wasn't trying to be, so clearing the room was a Hell of a good start. Seeing that some of the Zombies were still moving, if feebly, she smashed open one of the handgun cases and pulled out a SIG-SAUR 9MM, loaded it and finished off what passed for the survivors with perfect aim, one shot each. Finally clear, if only for a few moments given the on-going growls and hisses coming from everywhere-as her ears recovered from the clatter of heavy gunfire in close quarters, she caught the tail end of rapid and continuous gunfire coming from the ground floor. Evidently Chris was doing his part, it was time she did hers.

She reloaded her shotgun first, discovering that she only had twelve shells left in total including the two in the gun, then reloaded the MA-80. Finding a set of combat pouches sewn into a shirt made up of dark and light green army fatigue colours, she threw off the tattered remains of her own shirt and put on the new one-even though it clearly wasn't designed for anyone with real breasts. It would stay on, even with only two buttons closed at the front, that was all that mattered. She filled the pockets with spare ammunition and more exotic gear she thought she might need, then grabbed a strong leather and plastic bag and threw it on the floor in front of the counter-Chris and the others could pick and choose their own weapons, whoever drew the short straw got to carry the spare gear and ammunition.

She heard Chris bellowing orders, followed by more gunfire, getting closer. It was time to _go_. A good look outside showed her what they needed, so she went into the secure room one more time and put together a grenade and its fuse. Stepping outside, she made sure Chris saw her before she did what she had to do next. He quickly did, his startled, then shocked expression telling her everything even as he saw what she was holding.

He threw himself flat, bellowing a warning as she drew her arm back and let fly. The grenade went high, passed over the remaining human survivors easily and landed at the very base of the stairs. Realising he hadn't been atomised after a few seconds, Chris sprang to his feet and took off so fast she wasn't sure he'd be able to stop even if he wanted to, heading straight for her.

"MOVE! MOVE! MOVE!" he was shouting at the top of his voice, almost howling with the sheer physical effort of running so fast and hard he had to be risking a heart attack even while shouting so loudly she suspected he could have been heard outside of the Mall. It was the right thing to do, though.

The survivors all ran after him like they were trapped in his wake, led by a teenage blonde girl who was catching up with Chris fast. The last one was an injured Security Guard Serena instantly knew she was going to have to put down, once and for all, proved by just a glance at what was clearly a massive bite wound. He was only just clear of the blast area when the grenade went off.

The detonation tore the stairs to tiny shreds and threw body parts thirty feet in the air, blood spraying everywhere like a fine mist rain as the detonation, amidst human bodies packed together like bricks in a building wall, simply physically dismantled everyone within ten feet of its centre. Bodies further away lost limbs and suffered massive injuries that would have crippled and killed anything with still-beating hearts, while on the edges of the blast Zombies were thrown in all directions like dominos tossed around by angry children.

An area of the Mall almost forty feet square was abruptly painted with enough blood and human body parts to make the most depraved Zombie film ever made seem simple and normal, even as the awful stench of ruptured internal organs and far too much blood rose into the air, a mingled sickly-sweet scent that would have made a Butcher ill. Bits and pieces of things which had once been people were stuck to every surface and drenched in blood, even an entire decapitated head having somehow ended up mainly intact on the first floor near the railings, where it was still twitching and trying to bite at nothing, both eyes and more than half its face having been flash-fried off of it. Anyone who said they'd seen Hell, Serena suspected, would only say that until they saw this.

She caught Chris in the middle of his charge, easily bracing herself against the force behind him driven by his pumping legs, then allowed him to gently knock her over and land atop her, his face less than coincidentally ending up pressed into her chest. The smirk she wore when he started to squirm and mutter apologies, turning bright red with embarrassment even as he did, was sweet, the way Chris always was-and attractive. Chris was no gentleman, but he had a manner and a way about him that had drawn her eye from the very beginning. Young and cute? Sure, but he was a through and through good guy, no matter what else he was, if he said he'd do something or made her a promise she simply wouldn't doubt it. He was that kind of man, a _very_ rare kind of man.

"Trying to keep your head warm, Chris? Guns are inside, help yourselves" said Serena, impervious to the various looks the other survivors were giving her and Chris. This was just _what she did_, every now and then even she needed a break or she'd loose it and just start killing everyone in sight...

/End of Part Six. All Reviews appreciated/.


	7. Chapter 7

For all disclaimers: see earlier parts

**Sentences**

/November 24th 2001, Philadelphia /

It was strange, she often found herself reflecting, how the films that suggested they portrayed the life of people like her showed the individual in question living in at best a rough bed sit, gun under the pillow, permanently scared that an Assassin would come through the window and slit their throat while they slept. They always had all their gear carefully stowed away in some secret place nobody would think to look, including explosives that would, of course, blow up and destroy the building if a stray bullet or still-lit cigarette landed anywhere near them. Right next to enough other hardware and gear to allow them the option of taking on a SEAL team if they were in the mood-not that it ever did any good.

She'd only ever liked Edward Fox's suave professional in "The Day of the Jackal" and John Malkovich in "In the Line of Fire" for that reason. Edward Fox had been a consummate professional, expertly evading law enforcement Agencies and picking out the perfect location for the kill shot after accepting the Contract. If he hadn't made such an amateur mistake as to not consider what part of the human body to aim at with a moving man, the film would have easily rated as her personal favourite. She liked John Malkovich's take because of his uncanny ingenuity and utter ruthlessness, the man had been capable of anything to get the job done after twenty years on the job, even "Retired". Even the prospect of his own life being lost hadn't worried him-yet, again, he'd missed the kill shot, so the film wasn't perfect.

She'd even tried the entire "Jason Bourne" trilogy by Robert Ludlum, but had ended up bored by the end. To create a Legend like Bourne was one thing, but in reality, even in the 70's and 80's, there would have been several "Bourne's" all over the world ready to strike at a moments notice, coordinated by the CIA through back channels to make sure nobody ever managed to join the dots and discover there was no one Agent ultimately responsible. She, of all people, knew enough about the Psychology of such missions and the people who carried them out to be sure that anyone who tried to single-handedly _be_ Bourne would have suffered a Breakdown in very short order, no matter how resilient. Cut off from everyone and everything for three years, living a myth, with no Backup or Support and every single person you met in the street liable to try and kill you without hesitation? Inside of a year they'd have swallowed a gun barrel.

The only successful method she'd ever heard of for such long-term insertions being successful was "Project Nine", which even the Director of the CIA and the Chairman of the NSC reportedly didn't know everything about. She'd always known enough not to ask more, but hear say had come to her ears which suggested it linked back to trials of Mind Control drugs and techniques pioneered in the late 40's and early 50's, going right through to Vietnam before some catastrophic incident had supposedly shut down the Project and destroyed its research. It had been "shut down" the same way as the "Philadelphia Project" had, she had little doubt. That was to say, they locked it down until someone came up with a safe way to make it work. Not that she'd ever mention certain things she didn't, of course, know about from having not broken into the Dead Library Archives...

Why she was thinking about all of that, though, was another matter. Lying on a sun bed on the balcony of a Penthouse suite in Philadelphia, fifty floors up, surrounded by luxury in the form of a king-size bed, bath and sauna, shower, huge soft sofa and armchair, a surround-sound television with speaker system, with a bar containing any number of expensive drinks to hand, she was smiling like the cat who'd got the cream. She never lost track of the mission, she was good at that, but that didn't mean she couldn't enjoy herself. Besides which, Hacking the financial details of "President" Evan's and charging the luxurious surroundings to him was a trick she'd found far too perverse to ignore playing.

With the country in such a state of upheaval, major civil unrest everywhere and several cities in Nuclear-caused ruin, not to mention with the Wars abroad and the ongoing unknown conflict with Umbrella Corporation gathering speed as the resistance organised against them and their own traitorous Government, the Secret Service and other Agencies would be far too busy to track every detail of the Presidents life as they usually would. She hadn't stopped smirking since she'd done it, even though it was only going to be possible for one day. It was going to hit Evan's for at least 10,000 since she'd made a point of Ordering all of the extensive extras.

Again, why was she actually here, though, being so visible at a time when every Government Agency in the country was after her as a Priority One Assignment? Very simple. The last place anyone went to look for you was the first place they'd think of.

She glanced inside through the opened glass balcony doors, taking in the sight of the steel two-level trolley laden down with every expensive food on the menu and a bottle of chilled Champagne she was actually looking forwards to trying. The early afternoon sun hanging in a cloudless clear blue sky was warm on her back, arms, legs, head and neck, although the darkness of skin that was part of her heritage protected her from sunburn except in the most extreme cases. Her skin turned a lustrous black gold when exposed to enough sun for enough time, which it was in the process of doing now. How long had it been since she'd had the time to do that? She couldn't even remember.

Her hair down and loose hanging over her right shoulder almost to the floor, only black bikini bottoms provided any suggestion of modesty on her part, not that she really had any use for it. It tended to get in the way on Assignments so she'd gotten over the need for it a long time ago, after all. But Frederico, the big dark-haired and strikingly handsome Frenchman with the delicious accent who'd arrived to give her a Massage when she'd called down for one, probably would have had a heart attack if she'd stripped off in front of him.

She taken her top off and lain down on the bed without a moments thought so he could get started, but he'd taken almost a minute to do so. That was when she'd realised that he was most likely used to dealing with women who expected to be pampered hand and foot and complimented on their extraordinary beauty and wit as that was done, without fail. He simply wasn't used to a woman as stunning as she knew she was actually acting like a normal woman, let alone so carelessly disrobing, to put it politely. Thankfully, his skill more than made up for the mild irritation she'd felt as a result, so now his skilled hands had relaxed every part of her body so well that she halfway suspected she'd flow off of the sun bed if she tried to get off of it now. Frederico wasn't show any urge to stop putting his hands on her body, either, not that it was a problem for her unless he tried to start something.

She'd have gone to bed with him without hesitation, once upon a time, any man as good with his hands as this one was she /knew/ would be a true artist at pleasing a woman in bed. But now? Chris was in the picture now, more than ever. She still couldn't quite believe that he'd actually used those words with _her_...

Then there was Jill Valentine, who was essentially connected to Chris at the hip after everything they'd been through together. Anyone who wanted to get close to Chris had to go through or around her these days, the fact that Serena had known Chris long before he'd even met Jill just made matters more complicated. In reality, Jill was going to be a third party to any relationship Chris got involved in, which meant she'd never have him all to herself unless Jill was either dead or gone for good somehow. Well, there were ways... Not that she had much leverage left with Jill after what Chris had persuaded them to do together...

"...Mmm...That's enough for now, Frederico. You can go now, thank you" she said, softly, almost purring with pleasure but not letting it show. She felt the hesitation in his movements, but he muttered agreement in French, turned and left quickly, the door shutting with a distinct thump behind him. She put her bikini back on properly, stood up and managed to almost drift into the main room, where she slumped, to all intents and purposes, into the sofa, picked up the hand control and turned on the news, bracing herself for the ongoing madness of the moment. There was nothing to surprise her since Evan's had pulled off his Coup with Umbrella's backing. She wasn't sure if she should find it pathetic or not that the Federal Government of the most powerful country in the world was clearly so easy to overthrow if enough money was thrown at the problem.

"_...Riots again broke out in all major cities in the continental United States, with protestors fighting riot police in the streets..._" began the newsreader, a young blonde man Serena didn't know. "_Police were forced to use water cannons and rubber bullets to break up protests, while protestors continued to demand the Resignation of President Evan's and the reinstatement of President Bush. Vietnam Veterans have made statements through Veteran's Associations, as well as Veterans of other conflicts, that they have no doubt the current regime is in every way illegal and will not support it in any way at all"_ continued the Newsreader, before pausing to take in the rest of the report he was going to read aloud. He didn't look happy about it, she noted, no surprise there.

"_As previously stated, due to the ongoing State of Emergency and Declaration of Martial Law the Senate and Congress have been Suspended until the crisis is resolved. This has not, however, prevented numerous members of both from stating that they believe the current actions and authority of President Evan's violate the Constitution on several counts. Calls to reinstate Congress and the Senate so that formal Impeachment proceedings can be begun and an Investigation into the circumstances of the removal of President Bush and his entire Cabinet from office be initiated have been overruled by the White House on the grounds of National Security._

_Mass Resignations from the FBI, Justice Department, various Police forces and other Government bodies, including, reportedly, the CIA, continue apace, while the Pentagon has refused to comment on unsubstantiated reports of Desertions both in-country and abroad as troops in various areas of conflict and other locations refuse to continue to obey Orders they regard as illegal. It is believed that the majority of troops based in the USA itself remain loyal, while the Navy and Air Force are able to maintain minimum standards of operational security due to the fact sailors at sea and men who depend on aircraft for their very survival day to day are believed to be extremely reluctant to abandon their posts due to concerns about their positions and operational responsibilities._

_Reports of Police SWAT teams and ATF Tactical Squads deployed against protestors in the USA changing sides and attacking National Guard units cannot be confirmed and are suspected to be exaggerations. Troops and National Guard units stationed in the areas supposedly affected stated that they had not been attacked by nor spotted any rogue elements of any law enforcement Agency attacking them in any form. However, the possibility that elements of Law Enforcement Agencies had abandoned their duties and uniforms to join protestors against Agents doing their duty in civilian clothing cannot be discounted" _continued the Newsreader, pausing for breath and to take a sip of water.

She didn't envy him his job at all, all anyone had to do to be sure he was lying through his teeth was look out of the window these days. She wouldn't have been too surprised to have seen a gun being held to his head if she could have seen anyone off-screen. Particularly in DC, New York and Los Angeles, even with all of the Military roadblocks and travel restrictions set up to prevent people from freely moving around. She'd been to all three so she knew what things were really like, the celebrities in Hollywood were threatening to rain every kind of Hell they could down on Evan's for what was going on and the damage it was doing their Careers. Given how rich and influential some of them were, she honestly hoped that it wasn't all talk for a change. Hoping Tim Robins would punch out Evan's on camera was probably too much to hope for, though.

"_Furthermore, Shares in American-owned companies fell 50 on Wall Street and the London Stock Exchange expressed grave concerns about the increasingly fragile state of the US Economy, with Exports effectively frozen due to current disturbances and Imports at a national all-time low. Warnings have been issued by Economists that unless President Evan's takes drastic action to shore up the economy and lifts the current restrictions created by the State of Emergency and Martial Law, complete meltdown of major US companies and the economy itself could be the result, most likely leading to state bankruptcy. Warnings have also been issued by nations such as Great Britain that, given the current circumstances, they do not feel that they could support the USA should such an event occur without solid assurances that the necessary changes will be implemented-hold on, I'm receiving a newsflash"_ said the Newsreader, just before the blood drained from his face. Serena sat up abruptly, something had /really/ happened this time.

"_This is...I'm sorry, I...there has been...oh, God, there has been a terrorist attack on New York City, using the Biological Weapon which was released in Racoon City, Shoreline and Dallas. I repeat, there has been a terrorist attack on New York...Mom...I have to go, I'm sorry, I have to GO!_" shouted the Newsreader, before leaping out of his chair and sprinting off-screen with tears running down his face.

Serena blinked once, then shook her head slowly. "Oh, Hell no..." she said, quietly.

She didn't need more than ten minutes to pack up her clothes and gear, leave her key on the table and run to the elevator, white shirt and dark-blue jeans almost sticking to her as the sweat she'd developed while sunbathing shifted on her skin. Her red-streaked white trainers felt slick against her bare feet, but she knew they'd stay on because that was the way she bought all of her clothes. Function was everything to her, cosmetics only mattered on either a Date or on a professional basis. The elevator took less than thirty seconds to reach her floor, but she still forced her way inside and slapped the button for the Parking Garage well before the doors were even half open.

On the way down she paused to clean up and adjust her clothes, tying her loose hair behind her head in a tight ponytail and straightening everything so she at least didn't look like she was running Hell for leather for any other reason than a hot Date at most. The Ankh went around her neck even as she tied off her hair, that was one thing she _never_ forgot.

Reaching the garage, she ran for her latest Rental-under her latest ID, of course-a bright red pickup truck with a brand new reconditioned engine that purred so sweetly every time she turned the key she just wanted to put her foot all the way down on an open stretch of long, clear road and see what happened. Right now, that was exactly what she had in mind the moment she was clear of the city. She could steal another vehicle if the engine blew up on this one because she was pushing so hard, after all.

As to getting past the National Guard Checkpoints and roaming Military patrols which were moving around the countryside in supposedly unplanned random patterns? While making sure none of the Intelligence Agencies or various Police forces picked up her image or destination from any of the numerous kinds of surveillance equipment that literally littered the USA these days? There were ways and means if you knew what to look for and how to do it. ETC training and her own experience meant that she did, simple as that. All she needed was time-which, for now, she had enough of. Apparently. She knew better than to make assumptions which couldn't be proven by any other means than "faith".

"Ready or not, Chris, here I come..." she muttered, before turning the engine on and releasing the brake even as the tires smoked against the concrete floor...

/End of Part Seven. All Reviews appreciated/.


	8. Chapter 8

For all disclaimers: see earlier parts

**Sentences**

/_August 1st, 1998, Racoon City_/

The survivors regrouped in a hurry inside the gun shop as Serena checked and loaded every gun she could find quickly and efficiently. There was no way they could carry all of them, not even with several held by every one of the group, but that wasn't the point. The point was to arm all of them so that they could at least make an effort at defending themselves, as well as to give them a place to fall back on if things got too hot. She'd keep going no matter what, that was just what she did, but if the survivors got into real difficulty she knew Chris would stop and help, that was just the way _he_ worked. It was a shame, really, she could have used him, but he was who he was.

There were eleven people left, a quick headcount told her-or ten and a half, if she wanted to be morbid about it. The seriously injured security guard was already dead, his shirt ripped off and tied around his neck in desperation not doing close to enough to slow down the bleeding, it was just that nobody had told him yet. She could see his eyes slipping closed as his face slowly went grey, his life and his humanity draining out of him along with his blood.

As a fully trained and qualified battlefield surgeon she knew he'd have been dead anywhere outside of an ER in the States within ten minutes anyway, there was simply no way to shut off the kind of blood loss he was suffering from in time to save his life with what was carried by Medics in the field. As it was, this presented her with both opportunity and issue. She could make her point right now and save some lives, perhaps, or just kill the dying man for good and leave the survivors locked inside the gun shop behind its security barricade armed in case of disaster, which would leave Chris free to back her up.

She preferred the latter, of course, even though she doubted that the security barrier would ultimately hold against the massive numbers and-she knew from experience-enhanced strength of the Zombies. However, she knew she would use the former option because Chris would expect nothing less.

Chris Redfield...now _there_ was a problem. She'd found herself actually missing him when she hadn't seen him for a while, more and more of late. She really was going to have to decide whether or not she was falling in love with him, one of these days. She didn't honestly understand what doing so even meant, but wanting to be around someone of the opposite sex as much as she wanted Chris near her seemed a good start. How good they were in bed together seemed a good thing, too. On top of which, outside of work-related concerns neither would discuss with the other, they'd turned out to enjoy similar interests.

She had a singing voice to die for, but was, remarkably some said, too shy to really use it except when she was alone. Chris could play a killer score on a Saxophone and get by on drums, but she'd found it incredibly easy to relax and really let go when he was playing and he swore being with her never failed to bring out the best in his music. She believed him. They both enjoyed really letting rip at shooting ranges-although the shock on the faces of staff had been comical when they'd discovered that she'd flawlessly shot a series of holes into a target which spelt out Chris's name once, for fun-and both enjoyed ripping apart all the mistakes made by people who created TV. shows which centred on law enforcement or armed forces of one kind or another.

They even enjoyed games of Chess, both coming at it from the perspective of former soldiers who loved a good challenge involving strategy and violence, of a sort. However, they both enjoyed Poker most, since they'd passed the time by making highly unusual bets the looser had to honour. She'd even let Chris win a few times, despite a proficiency at any card game which would have shamed a master card sharp, for the simple reason that her eye for detail, analytical mindset, profiling ability and genius IQ let her do sums and run multiple possibilities through her mind so quickly she had yet to fail to correctly anticipate the intentions of any player she'd yet met. That was her through and through, though, always at least one step ahead, often more, she had to be just to survive, let alone succeed. However, she really had no time to be considering such things now...

She'd tracked his Career with the S.T.A.R.S. more closely than he'd ever imagine, she was sure, because of ETC concerns and Intel suggesting high-level figures in law-enforcement, intelligence, security and Political circles had all been either compromised or simply bought out by Umbrella Corporation assets. Her own report to ETC Command following her Iraq mission in 96' had gotten that hunt started, a hunt that revealed only more headaches and problems every time they breached a new layer of Cover-Up and conspiracy-clouded possibility thrown out to confuse the issue or just mask the truth of matters from anyone unwilling to use a Scalpel to cut through the muck.

Thankfully, the ETC didn't bother with things like chain of command, channels or Politics. It was a functioning entity independent of Government with links even the CIA didn't know about which went straight to the White House and the Treasury. If something was rotten, it was their job to purge the poison and cauterise the wound. If something wasn't working right, they fixed it by whatever means necessary. If somebody asked the wrong questions, they made the situation go away. They could ask anyone they liked anything they had to and keep going until they got to the real answer. They could crack heads together until brains dribbled out of ears if they had to, something she'd seen happen more than once with extremely reluctant subjects.

Whatever was wrong they'd fix it in the end, that was the whole purpose and reason of the ETC's existence-and now, to her, Umbrella Corp. just _was_ what was rotten at the heart of the USA. That was one of the main reasons she'd arrived in Racoon City as soon as she could after getting first reports of the Zombie attacks, which had been highlighted as "BIOHAZARD-UC" on ETC reports, having completed her previous assignment with her normal competent efficiency. She just couldn't shake the feeling, though, that she was maybe already too late. If Umbrella had been experimenting in Racoon City long enough to have these sorts of numbers available...

"Serena? Rush or fortify?" asked Chris Redfield suddenly, his deep young voice, as always, never failing to draw her out of herself and get her attention. Of course she already knew what to do, she just had to see if she could get through to them in time. Without waiting any longer, she turned and shot the dying guard in the head, the whip-crack echo of heavy gunfire following the explosion of the inside of the mans head even as what was left of the contents of his skull exited through the side opposite to the bullet, blood and flesh spraying six feet away in a line of thick gore.

The dead man slumped bonelessly to the floor, saved from a fate worse than death although he'd never know it. A shocked silence followed from everyone, although a quick glance showed distaste rather than disgust on Chris's face. He understood what she was up to, at least there was that. More to the point, she'd gotten their attention once and for all.

She turned to face the shocked group full on, all of them staring at her and frozen doing whatever they'd been doing when she'd shot the man. Several were clutching weapons, so she made sure her MA-80 was very obviously held across her chest. She met the eyes of each survivor in turn, they had to listen to her now, this was _it_.

"Men and women, boys and girls, listen closely. I'm about to tell you all the truth..." she began.

Y

/_Ten minutes earlier_/

Jill Valentine hadn't been happy about Lianna's suggestion at first, not at all, but given her reluctance to trust anyone or anything related to Umbrella in any way-with good reason, Lianna would be the first to admit-that was only to be expected. However, having walked her through every step of the procedure and made clear her experience in carrying it out, Lianna had convinced her that this was the only way to ultimately free herself of the deepest, darkest fear she'd held since the Spencer Mansion incident. The fear, it had turned out, of being turned into a Zombie herself, being left a mind-dead killing machine that would butcher and eat alive her friends and even her family, enjoying it on a level the rational human mind wasn't intended to comprehend.

Lianna hadn't been lying when she said that she could make sure that never happened, since once she infected and then cured the T-Virus in Jill's bloodstream not only would she be immune, but it would become possible to harvest a cure from Jill's changed body. She was committing Treason against Umbrella to do this, but she didn't care. It didn't change the fact that her ultimate plan here was to cause trouble for Umbrella only she could fix if she needed an ace in the hole-and she both needed and wanted a new companion, regardless.

Alice was as good as gone, whatever walked out of Birkin's labs once he was done with her wouldn't ever again be the woman she'd known, she just /knew/ that. Spence was dead in the Hive, besides which he'd only ever been a casual distraction, since Alice had always been far more her "type"-for one thing, she'd actually had a working mind of her own as opposed to an ego which had left Spence believing that God owed him a favour as far as she'd been able to tell. Wesker?

Well...when she and Trent had lifted him from the burning remains of the Spencer Mansion after its destruction she'd sensed changes in him, but only most of a day later had she realised just how far they'd gone when he'd wrecked the gym he'd been working out in at the Safe House Trent had arranged, by demolishing all of the interior walls as she'd watched, with his bare hands. The smile he'd worn at the sight, the look in his eyes... She'd always known that Wesker wasn't completely sane, that had been part of his peculiar appeal in the first place. But now? Something inside the Asylum he called his mind had fundamentally shifted, or cracked, she wasn't sure which. He wasn't insane, yet, but somewhere along the line he'd gone completely mad.

Worse, she suspected his new superhuman physical status made him believe that he could honestly do anything and get away with it. He still had all of his animal cunning and sharp-edged natural intelligence, his Sociopathic behaviour and utterly ruthless nature hadn't changed at all. /_But_, he'd never, /ever/ looked at her that way before-and she'd smelt the Rape coming in time to get out before he could go through with it. He was gone to her as well, she knew if he ever got his hands on her again she'd be lucky to simply not survive the experience. That was why he'd never see her again, except on the day he finally died.

No, everybody she might have turned to once was gone-Trent and she had a trust, a rare thing in Umbrella to say the least, but that was never a line she'd wanted to cross in any case-so she was going to need someone new, fresh even. Someone like a fragile S.T.A.R.S. survivor of the Spencer Mansion incident who just happened to be very smart, capable and a young, not unattractive woman who had her whole life left ahead of her to live. That was why she'd left out the Mind Control drugs embedded in the Cure, they'd dissipate and disappear entirely after thirty seconds but that was all the time Lianna would need to plant a suggestion which would.../persuade/ Jill Valentine that Lianna Styx had a "point".

Jill was sitting on her bed, left sleeve rolled up to the shoulder, looking determined if not happy. Lianna had explained the risks and Jill had elected to take the risk-with one qualifier: Jill's own gun, not her confiscated service weapon, was by her side, safety off and a bullet chambered. If something /did/ go wrong, she'd be dead for good before it would matter.

Lianna glanced at Jill, sighed and raised the T-Virus filled syringe again, pointedly. "Jill, I told you, the Virus will work fastest if it goes into the heart, so will the Cure. If you /want/ to increase the risk your taking, keep arguing with me about the point of penetration. If not, get the shirt off and let me work. Were all women here, you don't have anything I haven't seen before-and if something does go wrong to force me to inject the Cure fast, do you really want to risk me accidentally poisoning you if I have to inject your heart regardless by driving foreign material inside your body? Last chance to change your mind" said Lianna, warningly.

"I don't trust you that much, no matter what you're here for and really think of Umbrella. The Virus isn't going straight into my heart, but the Cure is. I can wait thirty seconds. Now get on with it" replied Jill, her expression growing grim. Lianna shook her head-she was telling the truth-but made sure to conceal a smile. Jill and Alice were more alike than either woman would have ever thought.

She didn't say a word, instead carefully working the veins of Jill's arm to bring up the largest that ran through it before applying the brace she'd brought to prepare the arm. She nodded to Jill-then injected the Virus into the vein directly. Jill gasped sharply as the cold steel needle pierced her skin and flesh-then grimaced as the Virus was released into her bloodstream. She started the Stopwatch she held in her other hand even as Lianna injected her, which began counting down from thirty seconds immediately-the time the Virus took to reach the heart and start to spread into the vital organs.

It wasn't common knowledge-in Umbrella nobody below Cain's rank was supposed to know, but Trent had made sure she did because he had no respect for Cain or his so-called "talents", preferring someone of /actual/talent know just in case-but once the Virus infected the central nervous system there was no going back. Very rare individuals, like Harvest, would mutate /with/ the Virus rather than being mutated /by/ it, but for every medical advance made since 1967 and still being made now there was no absolute guarantee that attempts to create a humanoid BOW would ever succeed.

The G-Virus sample that had created the new Wesker, the one and only known sample created by Birkin that she knew of, had been specifically tailored for Wesker before its use. If it hadn't been? She'd asked, but Birkin hadn't gone into specifics. He'd just replied that running would have been worse than pointless and that a rocket launcher wouldn't have been enough.

Jill put the Stopwatch down and quickly pulled her t-shirt up and over her head before tossing it aside, missing the appreciative way Lianna's eyes trailed over her body. Firm and shapely, compact and fit-Jill Valentine didn't carry much in the way of spare flesh at all, nor did she need a Supermodels good looks to draw the eye. Lean and hard-muscled with the kind of allure only intense physical fitness and the dangerous edge death gave you made her almost breathtaking-to Lianna at least. What she wouldn't have done to have had real private time alone with the younger woman in a safe place with a bottle of strong alcohol...

The stopwatch beeped suddenly, just as Lianna whipped her arm forwards and drove the syringe with the Cure into Jill's breastbone with such force that it penetrated the bone and drove on into the heart in a short second. Jill hissed in pain and her hands clenched into fists with such strength her knuckles cracked even as fingernails bit into skin and flesh, but she just watched as Lianna injected the Cure directly into her heart. She even remembered to restart the Stopwatch, to count another thirty seconds until they could be sure it had been a success. Jill didn't, though, realise that the world was falling away from her for reasons other than the mixture of drugs in her system...

"Jill, none of this happened. You know that now, yes?" began Lianna, looking Jill straight in the eyes. Jill just met her eyes slowly, then nodded, once.

"When you met me, you were out on a walk trying to make yourself think things through rather than feel frustrated by your fear all of the time. You were looking for someone to talk to, who'd understand and be able to help, perhaps, which was why I caught your eye because you knew, somehow, I'd understand it all. You could tell I worked for Umbrella Corporation, but somehow you had no doubt you'd be able to trust me, a feeling you can't put your finger on you decided was just a good gut instinct.

You caught up and asked me a question which proved you were right, after which you invited me back to your apartment for some privacy since your sure Umbrella hasn't bugged it because you sweep it every day morning, noon and night, using what your father taught you to spot anything "odd". When you got here, though, you realised that I'd been looking at you for a different reason than you'd thought-and that, actually, you didn't mind the idea, since things with Chris would never have worked out anyway, even though you've never tried it before. This conversation never happened, nor did anything else other than I described since we met. Do you clearly understand?" asked Lianna, speaking quickly to be sure that she achieved her goal in time.

Jill just nodded again, slowly-then Lianna reached out and used a fingertip to clean away the single drip of blood from Jill's chest where the syringe had penetrated her body. The tiny wound would take a Doctor to spot, it would heal enough it would be only a small scab in a day regardless. The drugs she'd used were powerful and, given the fragility of Jill's psychological health at this point in time, stood as close to a 100 possibility of working as medical science could manage. Besides which, she, Lianna Styx, wasn't more commonly known as "Roulette" without good reason. One took a chance every time one breathed in, roll the dice...

She licked the blood off of her fingertip even as the stopwatch sounded again, even as Jill's eyes suddenly cleared and she came back to "life". She almost looked startled for a moment, then she shot Lianna a half-vicious half-seductive grin. "What the Hell, you only live once" she said, then she took Lianna's head in both hands and leaned in for a kiss. Their lips touched-

"What the _FUCK-?!_" bellowed the voice of a man she didn't know, a second after Jill's apartment door crashed inwards following the considerable "thud" of a heavy boot backed by considerable muscle and weight against the area near the handle. She span-and swore like a soldier.

She recognised both people standing in the doorway, even though she'd never met either before, having only seen pictures of them on Dossiers put together by Umbrella Hackers and Analysts. Martin Peyroux, S.T.A.R.S. Regional Director in the Racoon area. Smart, very sharp and the consummate professional who easily combined running a desk with being an expert marksman and cracking heads together when necessary, with as much force as was required. His expression was thunderous and he appeared to be considering only two options: whether she herself left through the window or just dead.

Standing next to him, looking both startled and truly stunned, was Amber Bernstein in civilian clothes, a key she'd evidently just pulled out of a pocket still held uselessly in one hand. Her eyes, though, were very much focused on Jill and Lianna-and the look _in_ those eyes at what she was seeing said everything. She'd just suffered the biggest shock of her life...

"FUCK this shit-!" snarled Peyroux, evidently having made up his mind. Even as he spoke he charged forwards and threw a right cross straight from the shoulder with force behind it which would have thrown her right over the bed if it had connected. She rolled right and off the bed as he came in, though, hit the floor even as he went for her and landed a very solid kick to the groin between the legs with all of her weight and muscle behind it as she wrenched backwards and up, fast. Peyroux tried to turn, seeing it coming, but had badly underestimated her speed and caught the full impact before he could block or twist aside. He grunted in a way which suggested he'd just learnt about a whole new form of pain, staggered and fell to his knees.

Lianna snap-rolled back to her feet and threw herself straight at Amber, body-blacking the other woman out of her way before finishing with a fast and hard elbow to the jaw which dropped the startled Amber before she could even begin to react. Out the door fast she heard heavy footsteps coming closer, right beside a lighter set. Rebecca Chambers she recognised, holding what looked like a weighted Billy Club designed to crack bone rather than dent heads. But the big, tattooed man with her...? The second it took her to place him as Trent's suggestion for the USF was too long.

Coen suddenly burst into a full-out run so fast he left Rebecca standing and came at her with his gun held like a quarterstaff. Lianna didn't have time to go for her compact, easily-hidden six-shot holdout, placed at the base of her spine just high enough that a casual inspection would miss it, so she went for the knife in her boot instead. The six-inch blade was barely sharp and clear in her hand before Coen went for her with a straight thrust to the gut which she barely parried with a forearm and sharp turn.

She came back with a snapped high kick, a low cut from the blade following through, but Coen rolled under the kick and knocked her knife aside with the stock of his gun. He surged to his feet inside her guard and snapped a head butt full in her face, nearly breaking her nose as she felt blood explode from her nostrils, half-blinding her in the process, before his gun barrel connected with her jaw and her feet left the floor, her back informing her sharply when she landed a good three feet from where she'd been standing, hard.

She'd kept hold of her knife but was too dazed to throw it-before Coen stamped on her arm with such force the bones grated against one another and a brutal spasm of pain forced her fingers open, the knife clattering away. She didn't cry out because there was no point, her pain tolerance was inhuman and it would have served no purpose without backup nearby anyway. Barry Burton arrived even as she gritted her teeth, as the business end of Coen's automatic weapon found a spot right between her eyes and simply didn't move from it once settled. She even noticed Rebecca staring at her in an odd way-_oh_, yes. She was bleeding and her eyes were exposed. The kind of things which tended to get attention...

Rebecca Chambers was staring at her revealed eyes, unearthly Amethyst eyes no human could ever naturally have. She was staring at the blood staining Lianna's face below her mouth, thin and jet-black, more like watered oil than anything else, but strangely sticky and revolting to taste, even poisonous if one didn't have a natural immunity like Lianna herself. On top of which, her natural body temperature was so low and her vital signs so abnormal that a human Doctor would, in most cases, consider her dead after a basic examination. None of which had anything to do _with_ humanity...

"...What the Hell are you, woman? A BOW? Some sick twist Umbrella's cooked up?" asked Rebecca, slowly. She was clearly considering every option, but even so she'd never get close to the truth.

Lianna actually laughed aloud, maybe she'd tell them the truth? Maybe...or maybe not?

"Little sister, you have _no_ idea..." she said, with a chuckle.

Y

"If I didn't think you were crazy before, I would now. The problem is, your right, too. So how the Hell do we get out of this mess?" asked the young blonde woman, who had given her name as Annabeth Welsh and stated that "As a student, I'm used to weird shit". Her response to Serena's explanation had left Serena staring at her until she ended up staring at her feet looking embarrassed, but she'd still been the first to ask the question. Arrogance of youth or stupidity? Or naïve courage? Serena honestly didn't care as long as she followed Orders.

"Prayer seems appropriate..." muttered another member of the survivors, a middle-aged woman who hadn't let go of the small silver cross hanging around her neck since their trip into Hell had begun. She was shaking like a leaf and looked likely to collapse if hit by a breath of fresh air, but Serena didn't need all of the signs to diagnose deep shock. The ageing woman couldn't handle what was happening inside her own mind, so she was retreating to the one thing she truly believed in, making a desperate attempt to drive it away or force some kind of passage past it.

Serena could understand the reaction, but if the woman started mouthing off about Bible passages and God she'd kill her herself. God was dead, this world was all about accepting that and going on regardless to see what you could make of yourself before you died. Besides, she'd seen what people did to one another and became capable of in the name of "Causes" and "Beliefs", on top of which _she_ was a literally fatal example of what believing in a cause greater than yourself could lead to.

"Hey, everyone? Can we stop arguing? I'm kind of worried about the three hundred or so Zombies coming to eat us, you know?" called out a sweaty Yeager, who was clearly only just controlling his own sense of fear and panic. He was, though, which was an improvement on almost everyone else-excepting Chris and the old man, who oddly still looked as though he'd seen nothing new. He hadn't even spoken yet, but it occurred to her that he had something to say just as he did...

"Might ah just say that, havin' served four tours o' Vietnam an' seen the worst kind o' shit one man can manage to throw at another in my time, ah know one thing about this kinda situation? In the military we call this F.U.B.A.R., but here in civilian street you got another word for it: screwed" said the old man, pointedly, even as everyone but Serena turned to look at him as he finally spoke up.

"Real helpful, thanks" snapped Chris, turning to look straight at Serena with what was clearly an idea he wanted to run past her in mind. The old man beat him to it.

"But, an' I say this as a twenty-two year man who played SEAL for twelve o' those, it ain't ever over until it's over. Plus, son, I been fighting one way or another from before you or the lady were even in the cradle, so how 'bout you shut it down an' let me finish, 'kay?" continued the old man, causing Chris to spin back around and face him, fists clenched and teeth gritted. The old man didn't even bother to respond to the obvious challenge, although Serena was more impressed by the fact he could meet and hold her eyes without flinching.

Death marked one in ways anybody who had never killed couldn't hope to try to imagine, let alone understand or even begin to grasp. She'd seen so much death since she'd joined up at seventeen that she'd long, long ago given up on any chance of washing away the stink and dark smear of blood from her body, let alone whatever passed for a Soul with someone like her, even when she could still bring herself to believe in such things. Shadows lived behind her eyes in the dark parts of her minds eye, in her hands when she thought about it and always in her heart. She was never bothered by thoughts of everyone she'd killed over the past thirteen years, she never even thought about it-after all, what would be the point? They were dead, she was alive and that was all there was to it-but she knew what she'd done. She'd always known what she was doing, or she would never have been so good at it.

But...at her very lowest points, when she'd had far too much to drink, been talking to the Counsellor the ETC employed or, most often, after she and Chris had spent real, solid, particularly intimate time together...she wondered. Sometimes, just for a second, she wondered. This wasn't one of those times, right now she could have butchered the entire Board of Directors of Umbrella Corp with her bare hands and bathed in their blood without a care, but she could see the same look in the old mans eyes suddenly. With that she knew, just knew, what had taken him out of the Military once and for all. He'd been to some of the same places she had and, unlike her, he couldn't ever forget those things. It was almost a shame that they'd never have time to talk...

"It's like this: there ain't but two people here who can get up to that Security Office, get the doors open and get any of us still alive out of here. That, boy, includes you and the Dark Angel over there, nobody else. I am too old, nobody else knows what they got to do and we need Mr. Uniform here to watch us as the only young man here who can shoot straight and knows the complex. You gotta lock us in here and get right up there, fast as you can, to even hope get us out. More t' the point, you don't got time to argue, guns or no guns. So _run_, boy, run now the two of y'all an' don't stop till y'all are either safe or dead. Am I been in any way unclear?" asked the old man.

Chris stared at him, but shook his head slowly and sighed. He was ex-Military himself and had come to the same conclusion, he just didn't like having it spelt out to him Serena could tell. She'd worked it out when everything had kicked off, but telling Chris everyone was going to die would have gotten him killed and she'd realised that, too. More to the point, no matter what else happened, they were getting out of here together or not at all. She wasn't going to loose Chris like this, not after everything else she lost or given up over the years...

"Uh, HELP! ZOMBIES! Is anyone paying attention to the fact were all going to be eaten in about thirty seconds?!" shouted Yeager, trying to get peoples attention back on the problem at hand. She ignored him again, fear was making him shout like he was. The Zombies moved so slowly she could tell where they were by stench as much as by sight without even turning her head. There was one last thing to do.

"My name is Serena Baccarin, what's yours, sir?" she asked, extending a hand to him, which made Chris's head whip around as he stared at her. He was the only person there who knew even just knowing her full name could get you killed. It didn't matter now, very little did.

The old man put his hand around her forearm in a soldiers handshake and clasped her arm tight with a strong hand and a smile. "Thomas Peter Newman, Serena. Just remember one thing, though? You get out of hear, you kill every one o' those Umbrella shitheads for us, you got it?" said the old man. She didn't need to look him in the eyes when he spoke, she knew what he was saying. Nobody here was getting out alive.

"Consider this my Declaration of War, Tom" she replied, softly. Chris just kept looking between Serena and Tom, clearly unable to take in what had just passed between them...

Y

In front of Chris's apartment building, which was now so spectacularly ablaze that it was creating sufficient light to read by despite the ongoing thunder, lightning and monsoon-strength rain and winds, the woman some people called Harvest was leaning her back against a grey-painted Umbrella Corp van and, face up into the sky, was enjoying the feel of simple rain on her skin, of wind throwing her hair around hard enough it hurt.

She'd died in 1981, woken up in 1996 and been working for Umbrella ever since, during which time she'd proved herself to the point she was considered one of Umbrella's two top field Agents with BOW status-the other was Pierre Dupree, who she could barely tolerate at the best of times. Smooth as silk, charming and cultured, he just happened to be a professional killer who was almost as dead as she was on the inside. In the past two years she'd seen and dealt with any and every situation that had arisen Umbrella's Special Forces and UBCS troops couldn't handle, the result of which was that she knew as much about dealing with T-Virus monsters as anyone alive-with the exception of Wesker and the rare few Career monsters like him.

All of that told her that there was no reason to worry about anything surviving the apartment building fire, the heat and size of the blaze could and would vaporise everything inside the building long before anything like that could become a problem. The long black overcoat covering her jet-black uniform and combat gear, body armour and weapons just made it easier to accept the decision since it meant she could almost fool herself into believing she could still do anything else. Besides which, she did have other concerns...

She pulled out her mobile, encrypted and scrambled with the best tech Umbrella had to offer of course, hit the speed dial and put the phone to her ear. It only took him a single ring to pick up.

"Trent? It's me. Dumb luck beat Cain's stupidity this time, the buildings going up like a Roman Candle as we speak, no escape or survivors... I can't tell if Redfield and his girl were inside until the fire is put out, so I'll have to get back to you on that. You are? Good. You know how to reach me" she said, before hanging up. She hit a different number on speed dial and waited a minute before the special call went through.

"Ada? It's Jo. Step up your timetable or it won't matter what your planning, things are going to Hell here like the entire cities on a Suicide Run. Message ends" she said, before dialling a final number.

"Albert? We have a serious problem..." she began...

/End of Part Eight. All reviews appreciated/.


	9. Chapter 9

For all disclaimers: see earlier parts

For all disclaimers: see earlier parts.

**Sentences**

/_August 1__st__, 1998, Racoon City_/

Driving a jeep through even weather this bad shouldn't have been a problem for the driver behind the wheel of the bright red four-wheeler racing along the roads just outside of Racoon City, despite the sheeting rain making visibility close to zero in spite of speeding wipers, despite high winds shaking the jeep from side to side with each gust-but it was. The reason had nothing to do with the weather at all, though, a fact which struck far closer to home than she'd admit. No, she was worried about something personal, here-and that was something she honestly didn't like to think about.

With short silken black hair cut to above her shoulders, a slim hard-muscled body responding to her every command with instant reaction and reflex, as it had been trained to by harsh hours of discipline and physical development, the only thing she did not have complete control over was her mind. The one thing she absolutely had to control she couldn't, for all her strength of will and focus, because thoughts she didn't want to have, memories she wanted to forget kept rising up into her minds eye and making trouble for her. She hated that, but she just couldn't control it. Unlike Giselle...

She dragged herself back to the here and now through sheer frustration, trying to keep her mind from drifting and failing even as her eyes coolly took in every detail of what was around her and her body automatically controlled the car. She didn't _need_ to think about it to drive most vehicles, which was why she often didn't drive by herself for long distances without a significant distraction such as tape-learning a new language from the cars radio. But, in this case, she'd had to go Commando because time was an increasingly pressing issue-or, rather, the lack of it.

She glanced up into the rear-view mirror even as she hit Ravens Gate Bridge and went along it without slowing-and noticed the almost-concealed RCPD patrol car parked to one side off the end of the bridge along a lane full of cars where it was less likely to be spotted. The police would only be stationing units on-watch _inside_ the city if someone very senior was aware that there was more to the "Cannibal Killings" and destruction of the Spencer Mansion that she'd read about on the Internet, maybe even the Chief himself.

Of course, Police Chief Brian Irons actually took his Orders from Umbrella Corporation-just like her-so if it had been on his Orders, then the Virus was already loose inside the city somehow. That meant Cain would be shifting things around and evacuating high-ups to reduce the threat level to Umbrella, since he didn't care at all about "civilians" as he called them.

For herself, she doubted that Cain would ever escape the War mentality he'd gotten stuck in after the Gulf War in 90-91'. He'd even insisted that Umbrella allow him to keep his Military rank when he quit the Military for them, she'd heard. She wondered how he'd react to meeting some ex-Military friends of hers, two of whom she had no doubt at all would dismantle Cain without even noticing he was trying to fight back...

Trying to force her mind back on track, she glanced out the right-side window at passing multi-storey buildings, shops and occasional house-to find herself looking at her own reflection in the drenched glass. Black hair hung around a face of sharp beauty, highlighted by pert red lips and slanting eyes that were an example of her mixed-race Japanese-American heritage. Her slim, fine-boned build led most people to think she was born Japanese, which actually worked to her advantage since, even though her first language was English, she spoke flawless Japanese as well as seven other languages. Her light brown eyes did nothing to dispel the illusion, nor her almost slight, if curvy, physicality.

The thin old scar running from her left shoulder down to her left breast under her bright red expensive dress was an identifying mark she could do without, but she had an even dozen explanations ready to go at all times so she just had to let it go. To keep her dress somewhat dryer than it would have been otherwise, she was wearing a brown leather bomber jacket over it. Under it she wore a holster and gun, a simple 9MM loaded with Hollow-Point rounds slung under her left shoulder she would have been arrested for just possessing normally, but she had...unique talents that encouraged people to let such things pass.

Her name was Ada Wong, sometime CIA Agent, sometime Mercenary, now Umbrella Corp. employee-officially. Unofficially, her job description was rather more...specific. That job was why she was getting back into town now, partially at least. The other part of her reason was, at best, problematic.

She took her left hand off of the wheel as she stopped at a red light en route to a part of the city some people would have found surprising, flipped open her next-generation mobile phone again and hit the speed dial after selecting the usual name. It started to ring, as it had every time now, rather than being answered. "Come on, John, answer the damn phone..." she hissed, before, at the fourth ring, the Automated Message cut in-again. Her knuckles went white as she clutched the phone so hard in frustration she almost thought she'd leave fingerprints in the matte-black metal cover.

"John, it's Ada again. I don't know if you've gotten my last three messages, but I'm starting to wonder if you even can. I'm worried about you and what I hear coming out of Racoon City, seriously. Call me back as soon as you get this. Bye" she said, then snapped her phone off. Yet again, all she could do was wait for him...

John Howe, senior Umbrella Researcher and Scientist. A healthy mid-fifties with greying, thinning hair and a dour face which lit up with a smile which even reached his eyes every time he saw her. Thick glasses ruled his face, but utterly failed to shut away the gleam of brilliance and simple, sharp intelligence in his eyes whenever you looked him in the face. Tall and lean with the half-wasted physical development too much time sitting down in the lab and a lack of exercise developed, always wearing a white lab coat and scrubs except on the rare occasions he'd managed to take her out to dinner, when he'd escorted her in a rented tuxedo.

He was her boyfriend, in a sense, despite the twenty-five year age gap. She'd always been one for casual, quick and done relationships with no complications or history to worry about, but he was...different. Not because he was in Love with her, though, her lovers often fell for her hard. No, he was different because, for only the second time in her life, he was a former lover she'd gone back to.

They'd first met in 1994, back in her CIA days, when she'd been out on the town with Catherine Mattis, a woman who knew what the word "party" _really_ meant. For a laugh, they'd picked up two older men after far too much to drink, just to spite all the young studs throwing themselves at them, but Ada hadn't honestly intended that what had happened next _should_ happen. It remained the one and only time she had no doubt at all she never wanted to remember how she'd woken up in someone else's bedroom after clearly having a really good time-mainly because of the three other people in the room with her.

As it happened later, she'd discovered that the oldest man had been one John Howe-and, when they'd met again in late 97', he'd begun by recalling her name exactly right then taking her for coffee so they could catch up. He was, remarkably in her opinion, genuinely gentle, tender, smart in a human way-and good in bed, even though she preferred lovers who were more energetic and, quite frankly, younger. However, having a senior executive as her boyfriend opened doors for her in Umbrella-and had given her the idea she'd run past Giselle in the first place. Over the past six months of romance and courtship she'd actually grown slightly fond of the older man, not that she'd miss him when he was dead, but she'd grown used to his company and enjoyed his fumbling attempts at surprising her with gifts and presents on occasion. If he was dead? It would add some real difficulties to what she had in mind...

She twisted and turned away from Umbrella HQ in the city and on into the suburbs with ease, despite her lack of a map since she'd carefully memorised the map and route before setting out. Gleaming stone and bright red brick gave way to weather worn white-walled houses, trees by the side of the road and greenery on pavements designed to disguise the ugliness of some buildings appearing abruptly. Graffiti began to appear, street gang slogans appeared on walls, doors and even vehicles, bars became common on windows and doors. A couple of wrecked cars with shattered windows and torn-out insides, shredded seats partially burnt, wires exposed and radios, as well as other valuable parts, simply gone slid past. She couldn't help but think that renting a place in an area of the greatest danger was so like Giselle-

The figure lurched out into the street so abruptly she almost went straight over it without stopping. Her reflexes cut in and she wrenched the wheel left while stamping on the brakes so hard the land rover went up on two wheels as it careened around the figure before slamming back down to earth, a huge spray flying up from the rain on the road as the wheels locked and the whole vehicle slid sideways out of control. Ada released the brake, span the wheel to steer into the skid and slammed down the accelerator in an effort to pull out of the uncontrolled turn, but even the rovers wheels couldn't find purchase fast enough on the rain-slick road and responded too late. With a sharp thud and crunch of metal on wood, the rover sideswiped a tree and stopped dead, nearly putting Ada's head into the dashboard as she was flung sideways.

"Son. Of. A. BITCH!" snarled Ada, pulling herself upright before pushing open the door, kicking it out of the way when it didn't open fast enough. Jumping to her feet she strode over to the figure, who had barely moved except to stumble a little further along in the direction she'd come from. Maybe, she'd think later, if she hadn't been so angry she'd have spotted it sooner...

"HEY! Hey, MORON! Are you drunk or just stupid?! Look at my damn car, you-!" she snapped out, reaching out to grab his shoulder and shake him, hard-for a long moment before memory and instinct kicked in and she froze.

She was almost too late as the creature in front of her evidently caught her scent as well as hearing her shout, turning slowly around to face her. She took in its filmy eyes and slowly decaying flesh, the last pink signs of life slowly bleeding out of a wound in its lower chest which looked like a dog bite. Male, mid forties, dressed in a beer-stained vest and tattered jeans, barefoot-and dead.

It's head tilted oddly to one side even as her eyes shot open, it's ruined eyes seemingly sizing her up-she knew why. Then, to her shock, it actually spoke.

"Go! Doc-tor!" it said, the words hissed past a half-open mouth and barely mobile tongue. Then it roared like the monster it was, mouth opening wide to reveal teeth stained crimson with blood and chunks of flesh-and charged her with the sudden slapping of bare feet.

It was why she trained every day, just in case she even momentarily couldn't cope with something in front of her eyes like this. Her body knew what to do even if her mind didn't. One leg snapped up, her body perfectly balanced on the other, she smoothly rotated and slammed a sharp kick to the diaphragm of the creature-Zombie, she reminded herself-in less time than it took to tell, even as her hand drew her weapon.

The kick would have dropped anything breathing with explosive force in agony as the breath was blasted from its lungs and-given the force of the kick-two cracked ribs. The Zombie's bones broke under the force, but all it did otherwise was stagger back a step. All she needed. In one fluid movement she span around to gain distance as she moved a step away, clicked off the safety, aimed and fired without hesitation. The bullet hit the Zombie in the right eye, tore right through its brain and smashed its way out of the skull without slowing. A second after the sharp crack of gunfire echoed and before the sound had died away the Zombie hit the floor, dead all over again.

She paused for a moment, looked down at it, then tracked back its most likely path. A small, particularly dingy-looking house had its front door wide open-and, even in these conditions, she could see a broad smear of blood on the frame of the door. _Not_ good. More to the point, as a Sweeper for Umbrella, she couldn't leave things like this. She was going to have to finish the job herself. Again. _Why_ did the UBCS even exist, she had to wonder yet again?

Even as she began to walk towards the open door of the house, though, gun in hand and ready, muscles tensed for immediate action, she ran across yet another unexpected delay-although this one was, at least, alive. For the moment, she couldn't help but think, covering a scowl as she spotted him coming out of the corner of her eye and paused to make sure he didn't try anything. She wasn't tempted to shoot him, at least-well, not unless he managed to annoy her any more than he already had.

The boy came racing up on a skateboard propelled by surges of his left foot as he held himself upright on it with his right. Darkly dressed in black t-shirt and jeans with grey sneakers, all of which were soaking wet, wavy blonde hair blasted all over by the wind while cool blue eyes illuminated a smooth young face, he looked stuck somewhere between concerned and worried by his expression. He was too young for her to decide whether or not he was handsome, but she suspected in about five years he'd be a real heartbreaker with swarthy good looks added to a slim, athletic build she was sure would fill out with hard muscle in that time. More to the point, while she liked them young, sixteen if-he-was-a-day in front of her was _too_ young.

He stopped ten feet away from her, looked at her, her gun, then finally the dead-again body on the floor near her. He licked dry lips, paused a moment, then finally managed to speak.

"Hola, _chica_" he said, his accent native Mexican with traces of American under it she automatically noted. "Uh...is this a bad time?" he continued, trying to look anywhere but at the gun.

"Lets try that again, little one. You don't know me and you never will. Ask my name, I'll kill you and they'll never know where you died, let alone what happened to the body, you understand? Now, that said, what's your name and what are you doing here?" she asked, coolly meeting his eyes in a way which she was sure would let him know she was serious. He didn't miss the fact.

"Jack, Jack...Carpenter, senorita...and I was just passing through, didn't hear or see nothing. Just...leaving, too" he said, his legs tensing in a way which told her he'd take off so fast she'd risk being run over if she let him go. She had a better idea, though.

"Not just yet your not, Jack Carpenter. I need you to do something for me first, but once you've done that I'm sure I'll be too busy to even remember your name, let alone what you looked like. So, to business..." she began.

As she outlined what she wanted done, she could almost feel the fear crawling around in his guts. Still, it was this or dead, she'd decided, not that she was going to tell him that. This had to be his decision-

Her mobile rang abruptly, unexpectedly. She fished it out of her pocket and flipped it open before putting it to her ear. A familiar voice echoed down the line, the message one which made her grit her teeth. She hated having to change plans after laying them out precisely, that was how mistakes got made and incompetence came to bear.

"_Ada? It's Jo. Step up your timetable or it won't matter what you're planning, things are going to Hell here like the entire cities on a Suicide Run. Message ends_" said Jovana Kasica's voice over the line.

_Harvest_. If _she_ was worried, this was getting very serious...

Y

Albert Wesker was finding being dead slightly disconcerting, although he was sure he'd get used to it. After all, thanks to the G-Virus introduced into his system he could now out-wrestle any human, out-muscle small cars, run flat out for an entire day if he wanted to, survive being shot in the head-the list of advantages went on and on.

He'd known that making a deal with Birkin for this would be worth it at the time, the only disappointment he'd suffered since was the failure of the Tyrant to slaughter all of the remaining S.T.A.R.S. officers at the Spencer Mansion before they could escape. That was something else he'd get over, though. After all, he could dismantle them all one at a time and they couldn't even hurt him any longer while he did it. He was looking forwards to taking in the expression on Chris Redfield's face as he slowly pulled both the other mans legs off with his bare hands...

As he looked at himself in the mirror again, he couldn't help but admire the Viruses efficiency. His last memory of the Mansion before his Rebirth was of being skewered by the Tyrant using its claws right through the chest from behind, blood and flesh exploding out of the gaping wound as he was torn nearly in half before being flung away like a weightless rag doll. He'd already taken the G-Virus by then, so it had seemed appropriate to have the Tyrant of all creatures "kill" his old life and self before he returned. Before he came back new and improved. That had been the plan, anyway.

He'd come to to find the Mansion shattered and utterly destroyed by the Self-Destruct, scattered remnants burning everywhere-including atop of him, along with most of a ton of collapsed rubble mixed with wooden beams and pieces of steel braces. He'd had the physical strength to shift that much weight but not the leverage and, new to his abilities, had been unable imagine any way out other than brute force.

Then he'd started to learn about limits, as his hair and skin caught fire and the meat on his bones began to cook. Just because his body would regenerate any damage suffered didn't make him invulnerable. Being roasted in a fire hot enough to melt steel would, he was quite sure, be sufficient to do him very serious damage if not kill him, unless he was very lucky...

He'd been that lucky with the arrival of Lianna Styx and Trent. With her help he'd wrenched himself clear of the debris, managed to walk to and climb aboard the helicopter waiting nearby, then they'd returned to a Safe house he owned where he could heal, rest and get ready for War. Now he was all healed up and ready to go to work...

His blond hair, thick but perfectly shaped and cut, framed his tanned face almost like a crew cut. Blue eyes so sharp they cut their way through anything between him and what he wanted to know-touched by a hint of madness, he would admit, but then why was that a bad thing in his position-highlighted his face, while his face had smoothed out after he taken the Virus, age lines disappearing, skin tightening all over his body. His bare chest rippled with hard muscle as he shifted, tautly defined and shaped, shorn of hair, his fingers flexing to display dexterity that would have let him put a knife through the eye of a child fifty feet away with such force that anything human would have been dead before it hit the floor. He could feel strength which would have let him leap into the air so high he could look down on buildings sliding around inside the muscles of his legs under his white workout leggings, while he could sense every single thread running through the workout mats beneath his feet by simply standing still. He was so much _more_ than he had been, the only question left was what to do first...

Umbrella was second on his too-do list, they'd held him down and used him as their weapon of choice for over twenty years, even after his elimination of Dr. James Marcus, for far too long. They said he was best used in physical matters, that they were where his real skill set lay. They were lying, he'd known they were for twenty-two years, his mind was at least equal to Birkin's and he was more experienced in the internal politics and real world of Umbrella's activities. They thought he was both dangerous and disposable, but once he had a sample of Birkin's G-Virus to sell or trade so he could go to work for himself? He'd show them, he'd burn them all down...

First of all, though, came the S.T.A.R.S. survivors. They'd betrayed him, tried to kill him, humiliated him by surviving the assault of the Tyrant he'd promised Birkin would prove lethal. They were still working now to expose Umbrella and everyone connected to it for everything they knew-no matter how few, pathetically small pieces of the whole puzzle they had. In short, they'd pissed him off and had to die. Chris and Barry he'd slaughter like wild animals, Rebecca wouldn't last long enough for it to be interesting. Jill? She was tough, smart and strong in every way that mattered, a beauty with brains as well as brawn. She'd take time, so he'd take his time...

His mobile rang suddenly. Since only three people alive had his number now, he had a good idea what to expect. It was, as it turned out, what he'd been expecting.

"_Albert? We have a serious problem..._" began the voice of Harvest, his main contact inside Umbrella Corporation these days. No matter what she said, though, he knew better. Improved as he was, there was nothing left he couldn't do...

Y

Jack Carpenter rode his skateboard up to the front of the house, very slowly. He stopped just outside the front door, flipped his skateboard up to the vertical with one foot and grabbed it with both hands before holding it up short against his body, like a shield. Despite the cold and the wet, the wind, the rumbles of thunder and flashes of lightning, the reason he was visibly shaking and making a poor job of concealing it was nothing to do with the weather. No, it was to do with the fact that a woman with a gun had made it clear he'd never be found, alive _or_ dead, if he didn't do what he was told.

He'd seen crazy plenty of times in his life, that was why he was sure that the woman meant what she said. He'd taken a good look into her eyes and he _knew_, which had left him literally shaking with fright, that the lady _wasn't_ crazy, she just meant every word when she said she'd kill him and not care. That was _worse_ than crazy, the one's who could do that were the ones who would slice you up and leave you dying in the street, with everyone watching, laughing. He was only sixteen, he didn't want to die, not least til' he'd made sure Lis' was safe from all the bad craziness floating around town these days, so he had to hang on in there until he could-no matter what.

Madly enough, he just hoped that the woman knew exactly what she was doing here. He'd seen her shoot the man dead too late to turn and run, so he'd pulled up nearby and tried to act stupid. It hadn't worked out, which had left him in the state he was in now. Trying to call out anything or anyone inside the house so the lady could "deal" with them, whatever that meant...

"Hey! Hey, hombres! Anyone home"?" he called out, loudly, straight into the open door of the house, hoping that nothing and no one would respond-with a very bad feeling that something would making his hands literally shake in fear. The lights were off inside, though, except for what looked like a weak gleam in the kitchen that seemed to be swinging around slowly, as though a loose bulb had been recently knocked...

Something moved inside the kitchen at the sound of his voice, a shadow accompanied by a whisper of sound. He let out a strangled squeak of fear as he jumped at the sight, but forced himself to calm down. He was jumpy because there was a killer woman behind him with a gun forcing him to go into a creepy empty house, that was why he was freakin'-

This time there was no doubt that something was moving in the kitchen. He heard a moan that only a human could make and saw long blonde hair gleam in the light abruptly-as well as something else. The hair was stuck together in clumps in places, twisted in odd ways, but what made him start to back pedal was the colour of what was holding the woman's hair together. Crimson, thick gobbets of it-and, young as he was, he knew blood when he saw it. For that much blood to be on a body someone else was dead...

A strangely grey hand with bloody nails and torn knuckles reached around the door clumsily and wrenched it out of the way, so hard he heard the crunch when it made contact with the wall. A tall young woman stood in the doorway, but she was standing there...wrong, as though she was either drunk or hurt. Then she took a step forwards, another-and what he saw made him scream for real.

Her left cheek had been torn open, her teeth and the bone of her jaw were exposed. Her left eye was full of blood and the back of her head was so dark with drying blood that it looked like that part of her body had been broken open in a fall. A deep cut in her belly exposed intestines that hung loose outside her body, while both of her hands had bloody nails and torn knuckles-he knew what that meant, she'd been in a nasty fight very recently. Almost oddly, his shocked eyes noted, she had a kitchen knife buried in her heart.

She'd been twenty years old or thereabout once, with long blonde hair and, from what he could see with the film now over her eyes, green eyes. She was wearing the remains of a light blue nightgown which, with the damage to her body shown on the nightgown as well, had stopped being decent before her death. She'd been beautiful, once.

Now she was dead. Only she was still walking around... He suddenly became aware of the fact that he'd been screaming something without conscious choice since he'd seen the creature. Zombie, he was shouting the word for Zombie over and over again in Spanish in what seemed more like a girls high-pitched shriek that his own slowly deepening voice. He also abruptly realised that he'd stopped moving while the Zombie came towards him, it would catch him in just two more steps...

He dimly registered the crack of gunfire, almost noticed his hair lift as the bullet whipped past his head-but most certainly noticed as the Zombie suddenly developed a third eye in its forehead placed exactly between its eyes. Something exploded out of the back of its head and it was catapulted over backwards to the floor-after which it didn't rise again. Even if he hadn't been the type to Pray, he would have been Praying now after seeing that, just like he was at the moment. Some things nobody should have to see, let alone fight...

A sharp slap across the back of the head woke him up as his head was snapped forwards by the force, sharp fingernails just failing to open his scalp. He spun and found himself staring straight into the eyes of the Asian woman, her face so close to his he could feel her breath on his lips. He didn't need to be reminded of the gun in her right hand, though, after what she'd just done, again, in front of him, so he actually stopped breathing for a moment as he found himself looking her straight in the eyes. She just paused a moment, then pulled back, shoved him in the chest to make him move and sighed.

"Stay close and alert, I don't think were done yet" she said, walking slowly forwards before pausing besides what had to be the living room door. Gun held up and out, she span around the doorframe and scanned the entire room before stepping back to a guard position. She did the same with the kitchen-but saw something in there which made her eyes widen, something she wouldn't let Jack see. He noticed a slight shift in her posture, too, as though she'd swallowed something, before she turned back around to him.

"Upstairs, don't open any closed doors without me there. Check every room" she almost whispered, which he didn't understand-the dead couldn't hear people speak, right? -but he wasn't going to argue. He held his skateboard like a weapon, shifting his grip to one end, then made his way upstairs slowly.

There were three rooms, only two of which appeared in use, despite the frayed and worn-out old carpet making it hard to tell. He could see the smallest of the rooms through a half-open door, where blankets, clothes and children's toys were strewn haphazardly. He went in there first, having to give the door a good couple of shoves to open it. The room was empty, thankfully, grimy windows making it almost impossible to pick out real detail-except for a bloody rag on the floor just inside the door, so recently soaked in fresh blood it was still soaking into the carpet.

He took one good look at the rag and backed out of the room so fast he went into the woman's back. She didn't move, not even to slap him again-which was when he heard the rumbled growl coming from the room at the end of the landing, a thick, liquid rumble that had no business coming from any animals throat. He'd heard plenty of dogs growl at him before, none of them had ever sounded like _that_.

The door shifted slightly, a sharp crack sounding as what sounded like a metal hinge gave way, but it stayed shut. Then he heard a sharp, harsh scratching as what could only be claws dug into the other side of the door. Whatever was in there was digging its way out, right through the door... A rent appeared in the door, a dogs paw-what _looked_ like a dogs paw-tearing right through the wood. It was missing any fur, it didn't have no skin…

The paw was wrenched free, replaced by a big dogs head, which penetrated halfway through the door, scarred just like the paw. It sniffed the air and growled again, an impossible rumble coming from a dead monster-at which point the woman shot it twice in the head. The bullets tore right through its head, spraying blood, brain and meat behind in a display of such horror that Jack spun and found himself throwing up uncontrollably over the banisters. The dog jerked once when it was shot, so violently that the doors remaining hinge gave way and the door collapsed on top of the dog, only its head being left visible as its neck broke and its head ended up at an impossible angle with a sickening crack that would stay with Jack through his nightmares for years afterwards. However, the doors collapse let them see that the small bathroom, while full of shattered and broken glass mirrors, stone basin and old iron bath, contained nothing else but splattered blood. That left only one room.

"Kick the door open and stay back" instructed the Asian woman, then she pointed her gun dead centre at the door. Jack Carpenter swallowed, leaned back in front of the door-oddly, he was almost feeling as though he'd be more embarrassed if he failed to open the door with his first kick than he would be horrified if he got killed-then threw a kick straight at the door handle, where he'd seen cops do it on TV. shows his aunt let him watch. He didn't even consider the state the decaying building was already in when he did it, though.

The door almost split in two with the force of the impact, the handle and lock came completely clear of the frame and the door crashed inwards with such speed that Jack couldn't stop his momentum and cart wheeled into the room head over heels. The first thing that struck him was the sickly-sweet stench of rotting meat-young as he was, he knew real well that you should never, ever smell that in a house with people living in it. The second was the second-long glimpse he got of various pieces of human bodies strewn around the room in the dim light thrown about by the dim light that was still all he really had to see by from the room downstairs. The third thing was the fact that he wasn't alone in the room, as his spinning head and eyes finally connected long enough to inform him that he'd seen a girl five years younger than him, grey with decay like the other once-alive things he'd seen, staring at him as he collapsed helplessly.

The last came too late, though, even as a flashlight he hadn't known the woman had abruptly snapped on to illuminate a scene from Hell as a room drenched in blood, scattered body parts torn or cut from bodies and soaked in a kind of madness which he could feel crawling up his spine, which made him scream aloud and not care. The flashlight swept up and to his right, illuminating a bed which contained the shredded remains of something his eyes refused to focus on, then focused on the dead girl-just as she leapt on top of him. He didn't see blood-stained teeth and lips which curled back from them like a wild animals, he didn't see fragments of meat trapped between its, her, its teeth, he didn't see the fragment of a human arm it was holding in its left hand, still raw and bleeding. He didn't see its teeth as they rushed towards his neck...

Something inside his head told him to shut up in no uncertain terms and shoved the Hell he was refusing to see away, to somewhere it couldn't touch him for a while. He kept screaming-he could barely taken in that he hadn't stopped since he'd gotten into the room-wrenched upright with a strength he didn't know he had and head butted the thing full in the face just before it could bite him. Its nose broke with a wet crack and it was driven backwards so hard that he nearly broke its back. It writhed madly, trying to fight its way back upright-a pair of strong arms suddenly wrapped around its neck and twisted, sharp and savage. Its neck snapped with a crack of breaking wood and it flopped to the ground, after which the Asian woman broke a chair over it and hit it in the head with a chair leg until it stopped even twitching.

Of course, he couldn't see what was left of it after she was done with it. He'd never be able to, not even fragments of it.

Later, he'd almost believe that after she kneeled down next to him and saw the state he was in, as he sat there unmoving and not responding to anything, she actually softly spoke the words "Good job, soldier", kissed her fingertips and placed the fingertips on his lips before picking him up and carrying him outside. He could almost even believe it had all happened.

If it hadn't been for the fact that the building was on fire and all evidence of any violence gone when he finally came to again, sirens approaching form the not-too-distant distance, he'd probably have been able to believe that all of that had actually happened. The burning building told him otherwise, though. That told him he'd been up watching too many horror movies late at night, taking too close a look at the headlines on the newspapers and listening to headlines about "Cannibal Killers" in a way which suggested they could actually happen as deep into Racoon City as he and his Aunt lived.

He'd sat down on the side of the road and let his imagination run away with him, tired from the bad weather, real-world worries and concern about Lis'. That was what had happened here, nothing more or else. He got back on his skateboard and hurried away before the cops and fire people got to the house, sure that they'd find a way to link him to the fire even though he didn't even know how it had started, let alone who'd caused it.

It would take his survival of Racoon City when it was destroyed by the T and G-Virus Outbreaks, weeks of patience from Lis' and nightmares he'd never admit to that kept him awake most nights for years afterwards to make him talk about it at all, even admit it had ever occurred. He'd wonder who the Asian woman who had saved his life was for the rest of his own.

Y

Harvest was almost bored watching Chris Redfield's apartment building burn. After all, she had no Marshmallows to roast, nobody to throw in the fire and there was no possibility of letting off steam with extreme violence without someone seeing her do it-and she was too physically distinctive to risk exposure like that. Bored was dangerous all by itself, mind. After all, she always had another option...

The whole area was crowded by Police officers, Paramedics and Fire fighters, even with members of the public who had come outside in the terrible weather just to see why a building was burning down. The Police were making a determined effort to drive the public back beyond a perimeter, but the winds were so strong that crime scene tape was being torn down and whipped away as fast as it was being put up while people who didn't have solid footing had been knocked right off of their feet and needed a hand up.

Men, women and children were all out and about the way Lemmings clustered around a cliff edge just before they all fell off, in her opinion. Nobody had asked themselves the simple question of was it a good idea to be near a burning building liable to collapse at any moment in this sort of weather, surprise surprise...

She relaxed slightly and let her consciousness drift across those others present. The Emergency Service personnel were focused and worried, but they were all scared and with good reason. They knew just how dangerous the situation really was, but they were all determined to do their duty nonetheless. Even the one who hadn't stopped Praying inside his own mind since he'd first seen the blaze, surprisingly enough. Another man knew he was going to wet himself if he was ordered up a ladder into the blaze, but he'd go anyway just to prove that he wasn't scared-even though he was actually petrified.

Amongst the crowd, children wondered what was causing the strange light show, mothers and fathers worried if they were safe if something like this could happen and clutched children tighter too them. Older men and women didn't really worry so much about themselves, one ancient woman being so glad that her entire extended family had never lived in Racoon City and now never would that there was almost no room for anything else in her mind.

A middle aged man was re-living the Vietnam War in his minds eye as he watched the Napalm burn through trees, bushes, grass and people, melting them all into one small pile of almost-liquid remnants the eyes refused to properly identify, the mind take in. One woman who clearly shouldn't have been left to live on her own, who thought nothing of her own safety compared to her pets and would cheerfully have dived in front of a moving train to save them, worried if the fire would scare her pet cats.

Someone else again wanted Harvest dead.

Her mind gently adrift, it took almost a second for the fact to register, then her head snapped around and she stared straight at the young woman who had thought that. Long blonde hair bundled up under a baseball cap, striking if severe good looks that looked as though they hadn't been touched by a smile in ten years, if ever. Glacial blue eyes stared at her from that face with undisguised hatred, anger-and sudden shock, as the woman realised she'd been spotted. Black jeans, sneakers and raincoat all flashed with light from the fire suddenly, a dark blue shirt just edging above the collar of the raincoat-all showing because the woman had turned and taken off at a dead run, shifting from standing still in the middle of a crowd to a dead sprint in less than ten seconds.

Harvest was even faster, whipping around on the spot and charging the other woman so fast anyone watching would have sworn her feet didn't touch the floor. The twenty-yard gap between them shrank to ten in thirty seconds of running, just before the woman pulled out a small revolver and fired at her on the run. Harvest dived left, rolled right, snap-kicked her way back to her feet and came up holding her Glock pistol, the woman's quick shots missing her easily.

The woman took one look at Harvest as she came upright armed, turned sharply down an alley and vaulted a six-foot chain link fence with a jump an Olympic athlete would have been impressed by. Harvest could have torn the fence open with her bare hands, part of her Mutation involved enhanced physical strength, but instead she leapt and rolled right over the fence without even using her hands to do it, propelled by only the strength of her legs and manoeuvred by her natural agility alone. She was so close to the other woman she could smell her perfume in the air-and she rounded the corner deeper into the alley to find the woman's gun aimed right at her heart.

Fast as she was, though, she couldn't think and act at the same time, a problem Harvest had never experienced. Harvests left hand slapped the gun right out of her hand before she could even pull the trigger, even as Harvests own gun cracked down on the top of her skull with such force only the skill Harvest employed prevented her skull being cracked. The young woman collapsed bonelessly to her knees, blood pouring down over her face suddenly, but Harvest caught her one-handed and wrenched her head up so that her still-open eyes locked with Harvests own...

_...BOW bitch, no right... ...Take her, can take her... ...Overrated, cocksure, arrogant, dead..._

Not far enough, Harvest realised. She pushed harder, blood starting to drip from one of the young woman's nostrils.

_...Corporal Christina Ardizzone, UBCS, Umbrella Covert Ops-mission; Racoon City denial... ...Oversee Level Six evacuation of Racoon City... Deal with any and all threats/issues/problems as necessary, lethal force encouraged..._

Harvest kept pushing, still not satisfied, blood running freely from both of the woman's nostrils even as she began to regain some semblance of consciousness, feebly trying to throw off the stronger Harvest. Harvest ignored her.

_...Responsible to...David Cain-Security, Trent-Troubleshooter, Jovana Kasica/Harvest-Wetworks Specialist..._

A name finally swam up and out of Christina's memory for her, the face of the man who had given Christina her Orders. When she saw the face she was tempted to break Christina's neck for the hell of it, just to spite the man, she didn't doubt she could get away with it after all. But she didn't, because to send her message right there would be a time and a place-and this wasn't it.

"Get...out...of...my...head...you...BITCH-!" snarled Christina, having recovered consciousness sufficiently to have realised what was happening. Trying to free herself, she punched Harvest in the stomach-but might as well have punched a wall. She had a brief moment to realise that it was possible that wasn't the best idea she'd ever had before she abruptly found herself lifted completely off of the floor by Harvest, even though they remained face-to-face.

Very, very slowly, Harvest licked a line of Christina's blood off of her face and made a point of displaying the fact she was enjoying doing so-before she simply let go of the other woman. Christina, still barely conscious, only just held her feet.

"Your mine now, little girl. I was there first, remember that, oh "Security Risk". By the way, this is how you throw a punch" said Harvest, even as she demonstrated.

Dropping into a crouch she surged into the punch, putting all of her considerable muscle behind the uppercut, as well as her body weight and simple perfect aim and angle. She knew from experience that it felt like taking a red-hot poker to the spine even while a sledgehammer smashed flat your stomach against the inside of your back. She also knew just how bad an idea it was to employ such a technique against a woman who was not only unprepared, but who lacked anything like the muscle tone of a grown man to shield herself naturally from the impact. She simply didn't care.

Christina doubled over and physically left the floor as the terrible impact nearly killed her through sheer contact force, choking on blood which exploded from somewhere inside her as she let out a pathetic, strangled scream which was little better than a hiss of utter agony. She was thrown backwards three feet and landed hard, blood already all over her clothes and chin, sticking to the sides of her mouth and her lips. Harvest kicked her in the ribs once for good measure, spat on her and simply turned to leave as the moaning, hurt woman could do nothing but lie helplessly in the dirt, splashed by her own blood and slowly getting soaked through by rain.

"_I'm_ arrogant...?" she muttered as she strode away.

Y

Ada Wong had planned to meet up with Giselle and spent the rest of the night simply relaxing-if what they got up when they were alone in private could be called that-but the fact she'd had to engage in hand-to-hand combat with T-Virus Zombies inside Racoon City limits changed that. In fact, it had necessitated a sharp change in direction, taking her directly to Umbrella HQ in Racoon City. She wasn't at all happy about this, so the person she was there to see was going to find out exactly how angry that made her.

She parked her battered jeep in an "Employees Only" parking space so sharply that the tires ploughed through the water standing on the tarmac, washing it up and onto the curb outside the imposing Umbrella building in a small wave. She barely paused to glance up at the multi-storey building-grey stone, thick glass windows, heavy security doors with a whole list of security features-before almost jumping out of the jeep and walking inside. She shoved the door open with very unnecessary force, shot the approaching Security guards a look which made them stop moving suddenly, hands on butts of pistols, walked right up to the main desk and snapped "Scanner" without pausing.

The young brunette Secretary-pretty if not beautiful with short-cut hair, an athletic figure and a tomboy look, although she couldn't be stupid just to be working for Umbrella-pulled out a handprint and retinal scanner from a safe under the desk, a silver A4 size "sheet" an inch thick with a computer screen for the palm and a small scanner for the eye. She placed it atop the desk, Ada putting her hand in position and standing so her eye could be scanned. In less than thirty seconds the answer came back-a Pass Card that was simply jet black was created by the machine and it passed her with a green "Accepted" light.

The Secretary swallowed so hard Ada thought her lips were going to disappear, while the two Security guards took one look and went back to their posts without even looking at her again, as though she simply didn't exist-which, to them, she didn't. She just took her Pass Card, stalked across the luxuriously appointed lobby-marble fountain, soft dark red carpet, dark-wood panelled walls with numerous expensive works of art highlighting certain places, carefully dimmed lights easy on the eyes but sharp enough to let you see everything which mattered-got into the elevator and put her card into the reader slot. That done, she hit the floor which she knew Birkin's lab was on-although, officially, it didn't exist of course-and forced herself to calm down a little. She could work off her irritation over how out of control this situation already was later.

Getting out on the floor she passed by the reception area-where she wasn't even questioned, since for the door to even open to this level you had to be cleared to know of Birkin's real work-and walked quickly towards the main lab area. It was hidden well beyond the "main" lab, of course, by security lockouts and physical safeguards, but she'd been there before and knew all of the codes regardless. She was inside in two minutes, ignoring all of the oddities mounted on shelves, about the floor and even hanging from the ceiling, Birkin was always working on something new after all.

Aware that her entrance would have told Birkin she was coming but not caring, she was about to storm in-only she caught enough of the sound coming from inside to make her pause. Three distinct voices, two of them raised considerably. The quiet man was Birkin, she'd know his weasly voice anywhere. The man who was on the verge of shouting aloud was Cain, Umbrella's overall head of Security. The last voice, a woman's...She wasn't sure about, although she'd heard it somewhere before?

"-do not care that I put a prime agent of yours in the Infirmary with internal injuries, Cain! She shouldn't have been stalking me if she didn't want to get mauled, or have you forgotten everything you ever knew about me?! I kill, that's what I do, fool! If she hadn't been Umbrella you'd have had to carry what was left of her in here in a sack-!" snarled the woman's voice.

"Do not take that tone with me, Kasica! As Umbrella Head of Security I'll deploy my Agents as and when and where I see fit, including putting you under surveillance if necessary! You are so much a loose cannon that Trent only calls you in when the situation is already shot to Hell because he knows even you can't make it worse, don't you realise that?! Violence is the only thing you're good at, you Psychotic, deranged excuse for a former human being!" exploded Cain in a thunderous roar of fury as his temper finally snapped.

"Are you seriously that naive, Timothy? You're so deluded you'd stab yourself in the eye with the point of a sword just to see what it felt like if that's as far as your line of thinking has gotten with me! I'm part of Umbrella's team of last resort, the rest are people like Pierre Dupree. We're only called in when things can't get any worse because were the Ace in the hole, if we can't put it right it can't be done, you excuse for a former soldier! In Iraq, when you were there, I believe you called them "Dead Eyes" because they went in expecting not to come back-oh, wait, that's right, you were one of the only survivors! In the name of Satan himself! You are so deluded I pity anyone more intelligent than you who has to follow your Orders!" snapped back the woman's voice, even as the mention of part of her name finally allowed Ada to place her voice.

Jovana Kasica, a.k.a. "Harvest", a name nobody in Umbrella Sweeper circles took lightly. A BOW of the highest order, who had revived from a fifteen year Regeneration cycle with mind and body not only completely intact but actually enhanced, particularly the mind, in ways which people were still guessing at, but which most swore let her read minds at least. A singularly dangerous and damaged individual, who might just actually be completely out of her mind and capable of anything at all... One of very few people who could make Ada pause just by dropping her name.

"Can you both calm down yet? Once my G-Virus research is completed and applied we won't need to worry about threats or complications of any sort because we'll be able to kill them all with just an Order" came the voice of William Birkin. He sounded like the only sane person in the room-but that had never been the case, not since he'd been recruited by Umbrella at sixteen in 1976. As he spoke, Ada decided to make her own entrance and opened the door.

Jovana was staring straight at her when she opened the door, while Cain's head whipped around and he almost went for a weapon as she stepped in. Birkin already looked irritated, when he saw her he just looked more irritated.

"For my part, William, I feel I should point this out. If anything has happened to John Howe, I will slit your throat, all the way around, do you understand me?" she said, sweetly, her best girlish expression on her face.

Birkin just stared at her, clearly not sure if she was serious or not-which told her he had no idea that she meant every word, which he should have done. Cain ground his teeth so hard she expected fragments of tooth to come spraying out of his mouth. She didn't even need to look around to sense the slow smile spreading across Jovana's face...

/End of Part Nine. All reviews appreciated/.


	10. Chapter 10

Legal disclaimers: see earlier parts.

Disclaimers: see earlier parts-although, for the record, Amber Bernstein, Christina Ardizzone and Jack Carpenter all belong to Hyperactive Hamster of Doom and are borrowed with permission.

**Sentences**

/_August 1st, 1998, Racoon City_/

"July 2nd 1947, Roswell, New Mexico. On from there to Never Never Land, Nevada. Somewhere between 1947 and 1972, somebody decided that it would be a good idea if I existed. Why? I don't know. Majestic tried to cover a lot more up and has mainly succeeded. Should I go on?" snarled Lianna Styx, the muscles in her throat barely resisting the pressure of Peyroux's hand, which was attached to his arm and pinning her to the wall by her throat. He was going to pay for that.

"Hold on...did you just say what I _think_ you said?" asked a startled looking Rebecca Chambers, even as everyone tried not to stare at Jill Valentine pulling her shirt back on in the background. Peyroux didn't even blink, his focus was sharper than a laser point and he was absolutely sure he'd have to do something permanent about this woman before they left. He knew dangerous when he saw it-on top of which, she had to be Umbrella. They couldn't leave anyone behind them to tell tales, at the very least not for a long while.

"Yeah, did she just mention Area 51 or is it just me?" added Billy Coen, who was standing at ease in a way Lianna was sure was a practised feint. If she made once false move he'd hit her so hard and fast she'd wake up with broken bones, that she did not doubt.

"Who were you asking? Me? If you were, I'd say you missed the point. Look at my eyes, look at my blood, look at my face and think hard. Have you ever seen anyone who appears to bleed oil before? With eyes of just one colour, neither black or white? Look at my hair, have you ever seen that precise colour before? Do you notice anything odd about my bone structure? I'll give you a clue: the cheeks are longer and rounder than human biology allows for, the centre of gravity for me lets me do what I want to do because my musculature is designed for twice this gravity. My bones are denser due to a mixture of DNA that does not originate on earth, making me a lot stronger than I look. Again, do you want me to go on?" asked Lianna, pointedly.

"...Your serious...That's crazy. Umbrella would have had to have access to the Area 51 Archives, if that place actually exists, just to be even able to confirm that ET DNA actually _existed_. They'd _never_ be allowed to remove a sample-" said Rebecca, but Lianna cut her off.

"Kid, I never said I was made by Umbrella _or_ the US Government. I don't know myself in reality, but the _fact_ is half my Gene's don't originate on this ball of mud we call home. Umbrella's never been able to manipulate my Genetic makeup for that exact reason, but somebody managed it decades before Umbrella even knew I existed. Besides, you clearly haven't done any real research" said Lianna, with a sneer, before carrying on wearing a huge smirk.

"Umbrella as an organisation goes back to the mid 30's, but a ground-up reorganisation and major tactical adjustment occurred in 1945, helped along by their very own "Night of the Long Knives". Every link going back beyond 1946 had disappeared or been cut _before_ the Nuremberg War Crimes Tribunals really started laying down the Law, which is when Umbrella Corporation came into existence. More to the point, Umbrella Corporation has owned more Politicians in this country than Bill Clinton ever had willing women even in his heyday, soldiers and other important figures you'd be...surprised at, to. They _bought_ the White House in 1963-the year in question ring any bells? Umbrella Corporation _owns_ your Government and has for thirty-five years, the man in the hot seat just doesn't know it" said Lianna, with an easy chuckle, before going on.

"Didn't you ever wonder about what really happened when soldiers apparently went crazy in Vietnam? Why soldiers weren't properly equipped with Biohazard gear in the Gulf War and got sick afterwards? How a man could fly with a case full of Smallpox samples on a commercial flight even in the 1960's and not get arrested by the FBI? How mass human tests of possibly lethal Viruses could be carried out on specific sections of the citizens of your country, only to be discovered years if not decades later, as information apparently "slipped through the cracks" implicating senior figures in your Government? You people don't even know a fraction of the truth your so scared of" said Lianna, chuckling despite the situation. Why not? After all, it was all true.

"I can't believe that, I won't and I _don't_. Now tell us what you've done to Jill or I'll snap your neck and laugh as you die" responded Peyroux, his grip on her throat tightening-although she could tell he was straining despite the growing pain and shortness of breath she was suffering from. Very slowly, she raised a hand and ran her fingertips through her own blood as her nose continued to sluggishly bleed.

She suddenly wrenched forwards, feet slammed hard and flat against the wall, slamming every ounce of strength in her body against his one arm. He had to let go or loose the use of his arm as it bent unnaturally, but he automatically moved to an unarmed combat posture-only she stabbed forwards with both bloody fingers and got her fingertips into his mouth, making him swallow involuntarily-he suddenly jerked backwards, eyes wide, but she didn't wait to see the full effect. A second heave of strength threw the suddenly gasping Peyroux over backwards and she used him as a battering ram to force a hole in the line of S.T.A.R.S. officers before rolling right over him and sprinting right for the rail.

Yet again, only the combat-hardened Billy Coen was fast enough reacting to grab at her, but this time she was ready for him and expertly slipped past his hands. He span his weapon in his hands and slammed the butt into her lower back, over her floating ribs, as he chased her just before she made it-but her internal organs were set up differently to a normal humans, just like the rest of her, while her bones were far stronger than any creature on earths. She didn't even stagger as her bones barely creaked under the impact, made it to the banisters-and went over them in a tumblers roll without stopping.

She fell two storeys before a mathematical equation she'd run through her mind twice during the fall told her to grab hold and use her momentum to swing in safely to the stairwell. She landed cleanly with a dancers flawless grace and continued down the stairs without even pausing, taking the steps four at a time in a blur of perfectly calculated movement. The S.T.A.R.S. were too far behind her now to even attempt a serious pursuit. She knew the exact angles she had to avoid to prevent any of them getting an effective free shot at her, either, so she was safe. Time to go-she could catch up with Jill some other time...

"Shit! Shit! SHIT!" bellowed Billy, as he futilely tried to draw a bead on the sprinting woman far below and failed utterly, well aware he'd never catch up with her with such a head start. Barry had come out to stand by his side, but had taken one look and left his weapons holstered. Inside, Amber, Rebecca and Jill were trying to hold down a now-convulsing Peyroux, who was frothing at the mouth and flailing around in a mindless frenzy, hard enough to really hurt if he connected solidly, even while Rebecca tried to determine what was wrong with him-but she didn't have clue one and she knew it. Even worse, she didn't have her medical gear with her-it was in the car-all she had was her weapon...

"Guys! GUYS!! Little HELP?!" shouted Amber, even as Peyroux's eyes rolled so far back in his head they effectively disappeared and his head began to bang against the floor hard and fast, repeatedly-back first, since they were holding him down chest-up in an attempt to help his breathing. Barry got there first and used his foot to cushion Peyroux's head while using his own muscle to lock down Peyroux's left arm, allowing Amber to join Rebecca on the other arm. Billy joined Jill pinning the powerful mans legs, but trying to restrain the physical evidence of whatever was happening to Peyroux was nothing like a cure and they all knew it.

"Rebecca. DO SOMETHING!" snapped Barry, sharply, barely holding on even as Peyroux's head slowly flattened his foot. Even he knew the signs of poisoning when he saw them, for one thing.

"I'm _trying_-?! I can't work when the patients getting so violent a stray punch could knock me unconscious, you know?!" Rebecca almost snarled back, trying to keep her weight on Peyroux's arm while crawling up it to give him an examination-Peyroux suddenly stopped moving, coughed, gargled, coughed again-and vomited blood mixed with what looked like oil three feet over the floor directly to his left. After the mess exploded out of him he didn't move again, at all, even as the pool of blood slowly grew larger...

A horrified Rebecca slowly reached out a hand to Peyroux's throat, checked his pulse. She paused, visibly composed herself despite being so pale she looked as though she was actually dead herself, checked Peyroux's pulse again-then simply fell over backwards, almost on top of a startled Amber, who barely caught her before she hit the floor.

"He's dead" Rebecca said, matter of factly. As though it was the most simple thing in the world...

Y

Serena led Chris back through the security barrier fast, carrying two pistols and her new toy, the MA-80, while he was armed with a rifle and a handgun, all he felt comfortable with as a former Air Force man turned Paramilitary Cop. While they were both carrying all the spare ammo they could she would have taken grenades, but the inconsiderate shopkeeper hadn't left anything to carry them in and she didn't feel like rigging a sling under the circumstances. Speed was the essential thing here, not the ability to destroy everything in sight.

Besides, if the worst came to the worst, the people who had locked themselves inside the gun shop could blow themselves up rather than get eaten alive and wake up dead if enough of them was left. They'd all seen what the choices were here, she just hoped that they had the guts to make the right choice.

A near-solid wall of Zombies was stumbling towards them, at least thirty crowded into a closed area all trying to reach the gun shop-and the live meat-at the same time. That actually made her job easier, even though they were, at best, ten feet away when they got started on their run. After all, the MA-80 didn't come with a single-shot selection.

"Serena, don't take this the wrong way but how the _Hell_ are we going to do this?!" asked Chris, sharply, nervous but staying calm-mainly because of her presence, she suspected. S.T.A.R.S. veteran of the Spencer Mansion disaster or not, there was frying pan and then there was fire. At this point, they were in the fires of Hell with only one way out. In fact, if it hadn't been for the Zombies, she'd have been enjoying herself. These kind of odds, this kind of tactical situation? She did this almost for fun.

"Like this: follow my lead, stay alive and don't get bitten. You'll be considerably less sexy if you're a Zombie" replied Serena, before raising and aiming her main weapon. The expression on Chris's face when he heard her would have been something she'd have used to shock people if she'd had time to take a picture with her Mobile. As it was, she'd just remember it whenever she needed to laugh at something.

She opened fire, short, controlled bursts-but didn't try to carve a path straight through the herd without a definite clear shot at all. Instead, she calmly dropped one after the other as they tried to approach, Chris backing her up by at least attempting-she'd make a Sniper out of him if it killed her, one day-to drop any Zombie which she appeared to be allowing too close to them. When half of the Zombies were down she changed strategy and locked targets, smoothly and easily carving a passage right through what was left of the herd-before she sprinted forwards into it, using elbows and weapon to drive backwards or knock aside anything left standing in the way. Chris followed right on her heels, but she didn't even pause.

She burst through the herd and kept going, heading for the next set of stairs even as stumbling, battered Zombies began to try and turn towards her. They were so slow she could have just put her head down and charged, but she made sure to use her agility and speed to best advantage, eyes darting everywhere to make sure she didn't miss even a slow twist at the wrong time, an unexpected snap of jaws, a reaching hand or anything else. She had to get through unhurt and unmarked, which meant she had to be either very lucky or _very_ careful. No level of skill she knew of would carry someone through a randomised herd of slow-moving creatures like this without even a scratch, which left brutality and speed as her only safety features. Fortunately, she had no problem with the brutality-how could she? _Why_ would she?-and she had plenty of speed to hand.

Chris...well, he knew her and her ways well enough to be aware that when she said "Stay close and do what I say" it meant you did just that or lost limbs, along with other parts of the human body you needed even more than arms and legs. He'd stick to her as though they were attached at the hip, she did not doubt. If she was careful, though, even by her standards, there was no good reason to believe that they wouldn't make it all the way up to the Security Office. Then she could hotwire or bypass any locking mechanism, release the locks and they could all escape.

The RCPD could deal with the Zombie threat here for all she cared. Racoon City had stunk of death-rotting meat and the sickly-sweet heavy stench of decay only the newly dead ever carried-since she'd seen it, to her at least. None of that mattered now, though, in reality. She knew from ETC briefings and research that the city was as corrupt as they came, despite some few good people in the ranks. The city being wiped off of the earth by some monstrous man-made creation coming up and into it directly from the direction of Hell was a parallel she couldn't help but appreciate.

The Mayor was owned by Umbrella Corporation after several "Campaign Fund" contributions, added to the fact that everyone knew he would never have gotten the job if Umbrella hadn't backed him in the first place. They'd kept him there for two terms, too. Brian Iron's, Chief of Police at the RCPD, had been bought by Umbrella after being fired by the S.T.A.R.S. in 1994-the report said the incident had involved a young policewoman and drugs which everyone who'd known her at the time swore on their Badges, professional reputations and Careers she did _**not**_ use or willingly take. An attempted Rape had left Iron's in hospital with a broken nose and Concussion, along with two dislocated shoulders, after the woman in question had come to and discovered him leaning over her, despite the drugs.

Every major company in town had an Umbrella representative at the very least, most of them _were_ Umbrella owned or run. The only exceptions were small corner shops which just got by making a living in Racoon, but Umbrella could shut them all down in a second if it wanted to and everyone knew it. Umbrella had the biggest, brightest buildings, made the most money-and it had literally built Racoon City from the ground up starting in the late 60's for some reason, plans and blueprints of the building had disappeared utterly as well as all connected paperwork, so an exact date was impossible to discover. In every way that mattered, Racoon City-and, in reality, everyone who lived in it-_belonged_ to the corporation...

A flash of strangely bright light from the direction of the Security Office was all the warning she got before something so terrible even she could barely take it in suddenly occurred. A ball of flame exploded above them, even as it was seemingly thrown over the Security Office balcony, which expanded to easily ten feet wide and a foot thick as it fell down towards them like a Bat out of Hell.

Her eyes were so sharp she could almost see in the dark even without aid, which meant that her eye for detail was truly phenomenal-only, as she made out the details almost hidden by the fireball, she made a very rare wish that she wasn't as exceptional as she was often warned she was. Bodies, two of them, arched away from each other and spread-eagled, tied together at ankles, wrists and throats with what looked like plastic bindings which were slowly melting in the heat. Grown men, both of them, what was left of their faces and bodies said that however they'd gotten the way they were they'd died screaming and in pain so awful even the seeming relief of contact with another human being had come to be just another source of killing agony. She'd seen bodies left in similar states before now, these two men had died _very_ badly...

Horrendous as the sight of two melting, almost skeletal mutilated corpses falling through the air on fire was, though, what was coming down behind them was what made her breathing simply stop. Two barrels, big, heavy metal ones, the kind used to store enough petrol to fill up a small car in. She could just make out the battered remains of warning and ID symbols on the weakening barrels protective surfaces as they fell-and that did something nothing had since she'd joined the Air Force at seventeen: it scared her.

One barrel contained incendiaries, a fuel-oil mixture her education in explosive and hazardous materials via the ETC told her would blow up with enough force to devastate a small building once the seal and security surfaces were breached, given the presumption the barrel was evidently full. The second had BIOHAZARD stamped on it in very large red letters that were being scorched away even as she read them, set over a Biological Hazard warning sign. A combined explosion with both barrels would not only stand a good chance of destroying the entire building. It would also, unquestionably, contaminate anyone in the building with a millimetre of exposed skin, let alone an open wound, given the concentration of ingredients focused in the quantity in the barrel. Even if it only blew up on hitting the ground floor there was _no_ telling just how far and fast the explosion would spread the chemical drums contents, on top of which they were dealing with _**Umbrella**_...

Her instincts cut her thought process out of the chain of command as her mind calculated she had thirty seconds until the drums blew at very best. She stopped even considering the tactical options and simply _ran_.

Some part of her mind registered the fact that Chris, while lacking in her skills, was easily smart enough to work out what was happening and was following her lead at such a speed it was like he was out to beat death itself to the finishing line of a race to see who died first. She'd never seen him move so fast, but the greater part of her mind set on keeping her alive told the rest to shut up and concentrate. For one thing, even running so hard and fast that his heart exploded for as long as he possibly could, she'd still be sprinting for miles, far ahead of him all the way, after he dropped dead. For another, she didn't have time to do anything but _live_.

Automatic reflexes and combat-conditioned muscles kept the Zombies off of her as her body did its job and her mind broke everything down to the ultimate essentials. Her eyes registered shops and stores going past so fast even she only had a moment to take in the shops contents and nature. Then she swerved sharply as she took in the sign for "Hunters Home"-cute-and her MA-80 almost unloaded itself into the glass, cracking glass plate everywhere in massive spiders-web tracings. Using the butt of the MA-80 as a battering ram she simply charged the glass and went through it without stopping, shattered shards exploding around her and slicing deep into her arms, hands, face and throat, scattered pieces ripping into her hair and drawing lines of blood across her scalp with sharp scratches and pricks of pain. She felt blood begin to flow almost immediately, but it simply wasn't important.

She grabbed an unfolded thickly built dark-brown canvas hunters tent-hopefully fireproofed-one-handed, hurled it behind the metal and glass counter with a surge of strength and rolled right over the counter before ducking right into the tent and using her feet to brace the tents floor against the open area over the counter to get the most possible protection. Chris arrived seconds later, breathing so hard she suspected he was about to vomit from exhaustion, collapsed more than scrambled over the counter and only just managed to heave himself inside the tent-after which she sealed it shut-in time. He immediately threw himself over her as a human shield even as he rolled inside.

Just five seconds later, at best, the entire world seemed to shake around them, driving them down into utter darkness with the force of a bomb exploding right on top of them even as the light that the explosion created almost made it seem as though the sun was rising very early. Just the concussion of the blast made everything go grey for them, for how long precisely even Serena couldn't later work out...

/End of Part Ten. All Reviews appreciated/.


	11. Chapter 11

Legal disclaimers: You know the drill, don't own anything but what's original to this story and just having fun with the RE idea.

Disclaimers: See earlier parts.

**Sentences**

/_August 1st, 1998, Racoon City_/

Reports of a power failure at the Mall had come first, then several reports of continuing gunfire there, followed by shouting and terrible screams. The police would normally have just sent a unit by the Mall to get an eyes-on from professionals on the ground of what was actually occurring, then responded as the report required action. Back-Up units if just a civil disturbance, which regular street units could and would deal with. SWAT would have been despatched if the reports had led police to the scene of a gangland gun battle, riot or similar disturbance.

Once the S.T.A.R.S. would have come after the SWAT teams on the list of Back-Up, but since the catastrophic outcome and fallout of the Spencer Mansion mission even the remaining S.T.A.R.S. still on active duty in the city had been blacklisted by civil authorities. It didn't help that even the S.T.A.R.S. Agents themselves didn't know what to make of the seemingly insane reports submitted by the survivors of that mission-but many had taken the view that the survivors were suffering from severe trauma at best and had grossly exaggerated what had actually occurred in an attempt to Cover-Up the reality of a utterly botched mission. The one's who didn't believe it was a Cover-Up were, at best, only able to accept that the survivors and their teams had been attacked by wild animals possibly mutated or somehow affected by Toxic waste illegally dumped somewhere nearby.

It didn't change the fact that the survivors had possibly finished the S.T.A.R.S. organisation as a force and authority in Racoon City for good with everything they'd said. What they'd said about Umbrella Corporation, which had the money and the influence to get the entire S.T.A.R.S. organisation worldwide shut down if it wanted to, being just a part of it.

The situation at the Mall had, however, even before the rolling sharp crack of sound and flash of light from inside which several people had sworn was a bomb detonation, gathered a response which even watching members of the street gangs who roamed the streets at will and often saw SWAT teams in action would have described as excessive. In fact, anyone asked would have described the events which followed as crazy.

First of all, just minutes after the first police car had arrived, literally a dozen more had arrived so quickly that cars had been skidding to a stop all around the Mall. Police officers armed with shotguns and pistols had leapt out of cars, ordered curious crowds gathering despite the awful weather and late hour back virtually at gunpoint and set up a perimeter using their cars and Incident Scene tape to mark out where people were most certainly _not_ allowed. Just minutes later two full armoured vans of SWAT officers had arrived and proceeded to form a hard perimeter, creating defences out of steps, walls, metal bins and even parked cars. The strangest thing about their actions, though, was the fact that they made no attempt to enter the Mall, despite their numbers and amply demonstrated extensive firepower.

A senior Police officer arrived with four more police cars and two more SWAT team vans only a few minutes later, which raised several eyebrows since the presence of so many heavily armed men in one place practically stated the authorities suspected Terrorists or a major-league figure in organised crime was inside the Mall. To most peoples thinking, at least.

The newly arrived senior officer quickly assumed overall command. However, yet again all that the SWAT officers did was reinforce their positions and stand ready, as though expecting the trouble to come out of the Mall and crash into them outside.

They seemed content to sit back and wait, although sharp-eyed people amongst the crowds noticed the signs of both frustration and anger on the faces of most of the SWAT team officers. Evidently, they didn't know why they weren't been sent in either-and didn't like that very fact at all. Which made the awful explosion, when it so suddenly came, all the more shocking...

Y

The entire building shook as though it was being thrown around by the concussive force of a nuclear detonation when the explosives-packed barrel finally erupted in a sheet wave of fire and exploding chemicals of every description, everything standing up when the violence of the chaotic eruption threw gale-force blasts of moving air throughout the structure being catapulted metres in every direction. Every piece of glass in the building shattered like it had been struck by screams straight from Hell, steel walkways set and secured into concrete and stone literally flapped like the wings of mad birds with a screaming, screeching wail that belonged nowhere but in nightmares.

Steel doors and frames buckled and twisted into shapes that their designers would never have recognised, even as nightmare heat and flames vomiting forth from the ground-floor explosion slagged and melted things intended to survive the intensity of heat created by blazing full oxygen cylinders. Stone caught fire as concrete simply melted out of areas between blocks, water held in flasks, fountains and even in refrigerators simply evaporated. Plastic shelves, bottles and stands simply turned to sludge and coated areas of floor in a liquid so hot it would melt bone.

Secondary explosions occurred as gas cylinders that supplied heating systems in the Mall when necessary cooked off and blew up, blowing gaping craters in walls, ceilings and floors. Electrical systems shorted throughout the building, starting electrical fires everywhere even as cables were torn loose and wiring literally fell out of collapsing segments of the damaged structure, sparking lives wires making parts of the battered building death traps for anything with a heartbeat as they connected with metal and filled gaps in stone. Blazing flames threatened to roll right up the walls of the battered building, all the way to the roof, only the awful distortion of the air currents inside the structure caused by the building inferno preventing the event-temporarily.

Ambient temperature inside the Mall rose twenty degrees in thirty seconds, the humidity immediately developing to such a degree it was like taking a Sauna in the steam of a pool of lava when anyone tried to move-and the effects of the blast had only just started to be felt. The temperature continued to rise even as the fire built itself up to greater and greater heights, everything in the Mall-including the Mall itself-merely more fuel for the fire, including the bodies of the dead, walking or otherwise. Worst of all, though, was what the fires ultimate purpose was, inside the Mall at least, a purpose signified only by a strange light-green glint sometimes visible inside the fire itself-and outside as a light, invisible film coating everything as high up as the fire could reach-so far.

Umbrella Scientists had been working since the Vietnam War to make T-Virus weapons fireproof, or at least resistant, to prevent easy fixes by their enemies such as having areas affected doused with Napalm. While true immunity from fire had proved impossible to engineer into the Virus, they had discovered a way around the problem after over twenty years of trying: the Conflagration Theory, the method of using fires own energy against it to allow the T-Virus to not only survive fire but be enhanced by it. The hotter and faster a fire burnt the faster the T-Virus bred and developed, the fires very existence sustaining and enhancing the effects and purpose of the Virus. When the fire died, the Virus would only live on through its Hosts.

It had been scientifically proven that very little short of a direct Nuclear strike would utterly eliminate the Virus-so Cain had considered Chris Redfield and his companion perfect Test Subjects for the new and improved Virus. After all, Umbrella needed the data and, more to the point, with all the troubles in Racoon City these days, even events like the Mall attack would be easy to explain away-even _with_ the increasingly paranoid press these days. Chris Redfield's presence would, in fact, be an aid in that regard...

Outside the Mall, the devastation appeared even worse. Exploding windows and emergency exit doors vomited blasts of flame twenty feet from the structure itself, catapulting the scorched remains of steel and plastic doors much further as the sheer kinetic force blasting out from the explosion sent the mangled remains spinning through the night air like melting fragments of a gigantic child's toy. Echoing blasts catapulted people from their feet with bleeding eardrums and noses, even as screams, shouts and wails of horror echoed everywhere in horror and disbelief at what was happening. Cars parked too close were picked up and flipped through the air so quickly they almost seemed to actually fly before they landed, hard, amidst crashing steel and crunching plastic remains. Few people were caught in the blasts, but very little was ever found of those that were.

People simply turned and ran if they were able, some crawling slowly in helpless desperation, even as stunned Police officers-the closest to the blasts-tried feebly to drag themselves back to their feet and restore some kind of order. The literally shattering, nightmare roar of the explosion echoed across the city like a call to arms in Hell, shaking awake or apart everything in half a mile and being heard by everyone, everywhere in the city. The monstrous fireball that followed lit up everything as though the sun was rising in the middle of the night.

Children woke up screaming everywhere, elderly people died of shock in their sleep or came awake believing a new War was breaking out, young adults awoke to scenes of indescribable chaos as, for a long, long moment nobody could even tell if it was night or day. Once they could, everyone who thought about it wished that matters had stayed that way so they couldn't even possibly tell what was really happening.

Chief of Police Brian Irons was awake and alert in RCPD headquarters, directing the Mall incident Police response personally. When he found himself looking out of his office window and then at his clock, which told him it was one thirty in the morning, just to tell what time it really was, he swore using language that would have shocked every officer in the RCPD. He pulled out his mobile, dialled a very specific number and waited for it to connect, so that he could get his new Orders. He knew that he wasn't the smartest man in the room most of the time, but he was smart enough to know when radical change was occurring.

Trent, who was in Umbrella Corporate Headquarters in Racoon City talking directly to the Board of Directors and President of Umbrella Corporation via a secure video link to give them an update, even as he made notes on how to deal with Cain's current stupidity on a notepad, saw the sudden flash of light before he felt the heavy rumble of what _should_ have felt like thunder. He knew Cain, which meant he knew better. In ten minutes flat he had finished updating the leadership of Umbrella, a minute later he was in an armoured Limo headed to the scene. For this level of stupidity, not even Cain's level of militaristic arrogance and favour amongst the Umbrella hierarchy for using the most violent means available to get the job done, every time, would shield him from the repercussions.

Harvest, who was simply standing still in the street in front of the Umbrella headquarters building letting the awful weather soak her through, freeze her to the bone and whip her long hair around so hard it actually hurt, arms and legs fully extended and thrown back, actually staggered when the blasts edge caught her. Immediately afterwards, still soaked through and seemingly uncaring, she strode back into the Umbrella building and went looking for Cain, Murder in her mind. Cain had finally, once and for all, gone _way_ too far...

Ada, who had retrieved her jeep and was almost at Giselle's apartment at last following her confrontation with Birkin and Cain, was nearly blinded momentarily by the sudden massive flash of light. She stood on the brakes, fought the wheel to prevent a skid, gritted her teeth and waited for the "sunspots" to pass. What else was going to happen tonight in this damned city? Bad enough it was obviously already lost to the Virus.

Lianna Styx, most of the way back to Umbrella headquarters on foot, had to stop and stare at the explosion and massive flash of light, even as she realised that the side of the building near to her had to have shielded her from the worst of the fallout given how close the explosion looked and sounded to be. Her calculations told her, down to the extent of decimal places possible, just what kind of bomb and how big had to have been used to accomplish the result. She did _not_ like the conclusions she came to, since her conclusions also told her from just what level of authority such an attack would have had to have been authorised.

In Jill Valentines apartment building, startled S.T.A.R.S. survivors, Amber Bernstein and Billy Coen all spun to the window to see the explosion and flash of light-only they all had to dive flat as the impact wave of the explosion shattered windows and catapulted glass across the room with enough force to embed it in the far wall. Barry Burton, still shocked from the sudden death of his old friend with no visible wounds, was still the first person to say what everyone was thinking.

"I think we know where Chris is now..." said Barry, slowly and carefully...

Y

The force behind the blast made Serena and Chris's position of attempted cover about as useful as hiding behind strands of straw in a hurricane. The glass in the room exploded in all directions as though it was being catapulted through a spinning shredder, fragments slashing into every surface so deeply inch-long shards disappeared completely inside stone and concrete walls. The counter, made of a combination of wood, plastic, metal and shattered glass, was physically lifted off of the floor and slammed backwards into the wall behind it so hard it left an impact crater before the battered remains collapsed on top of Chris and Serena's position.

Plastic guns, blunt knives, dud sticks of dynamite, other weapons and survival gear of every description flew around the shop as though gravity had abandoned them and rained down in such a random assortment of places and ways that even a computer couldn't have calculated all of the possibilities. They were followed every time by the shattered remains of the counter or drawers they had been held in, which often shattered completely when they landed.

The echoing roar of sound that slammed down hard behind the massive explosion punctured eardrums and even broke bones, forcing those few who could still hear after the initial assault to clap both hands over their ears, crouch into a ball and helplessly hope that they weren't left both dead and crippled. Far-arcing flashes of fire catapulted high lit small fires inside the Hunting shop Serena and Chris were in, as well as even further up, all the way up to the Security Office right at the top of the building. The awful, killing stink of a chemical fire immediately began gathering even as the kind of silence that only the close presence of death can create fell over the entire Mall-before the silence was broken one last time, by the sound of multiple explosions coming from the first-floor gun shop...

Serena had to blink several times before her eyes would focus, then shake her head hard to blow away the cobwebs. She actually had to stop and check that everything was still attached before she tried to move, despite the grinding edge of the shattered remains of the counter trying to crush her chest and arms. Thankfully, heavy bruising and several small cuts notwithstanding, added to what she suspected was a slight case of shock...she was fine, if feeling increasingly battered as time went on.

The tent had done its job, thankfully, catching the worst of the debris and protecting them from simply being boiled alive by the heat exploding from the blast. Any chemicals that had been spread about by the blast had been caught, in any case-which didn't mean they were remotely safe from the effects, especially given Umbrella's habit of creating very hard to kill chemical and biological weapons which did not exist anywhere else on Earth.

Chris was unconscious and she could see a trickle of blood slipping down his scalp, onto his neck and shoulder. His breathing was slow and steady, though, a quick check revealed that his eyes were fine, his pulse was strong. He was just unconscious, his skull hadn't been cracked or his neck broken. Most likely he had a Concussion, but she had her own problems to worry about, not least the fact that if she couldn't throw the remains of the counter off of them they'd both end up with either broken bones or simply be dead.

She felt around with her hands, got her fingers around a lower edge that felt relatively stable and applied pressure to see what happened. The counter shifted slightly, settling more, the upper edge falling in on them harder, the lower edge shifting away. She fought it, strained against the weight suspended above her. The lower edge crept back towards her, the upper edge slowly shifting away. The closer it got the harder she had to pull, the more weight she had to fight against-and she had little leverage to help her.

She felt the hard muscle in her arms, shoulders, hands, back and chest tighten as she fought against a weight that had to be at least twice that of her own, most likely even more than that. Her jaw creaked as she bit down and set herself, heels wedged against the floor to hold her in place, straining to get the job done-and, suddenly, the remains of the counter shifted and tumbled away from her and Chris to the floor with a thud and loud bang of sudden, sharp impact. She breathed in deeply, managed to unzip and open the tent, dragged Chris out so that he wasn't accidentally suffocated and grabbed her MA-80 before, after a brief stagger, striding over to the outside of the shop to take in, with her own eyes, just what had actually happened.

What she saw told her what she already knew, that God might have Created the world and everything they knew but that the Devil knew all of the best jokes. They were trapped in here beyond any hope of rescue, no question given just what she could see, let alone smell and hear. They had no way out and they were going to die here.

The explosions she'd heard from the first floor could only have been the gun shop survivors, who had to have realised what had happened and used grenades to make sure they all rested peacefully. Yet another score to settle with Umbrella, far too many too be settled with that monster corporation which had clearly forgotten a long, long time ago that everyone lived _somewhere_-and that there was always one willing to make a stand, to see that actions had consequences. She couldn't die now, she had too much left to do-but it didn't look like she was going to get the choice...

/End of Part Eleven. All Reviews appreciated/.


	12. Chapter 12

Legal disclaimers: see earlier parts.

Disclaimers: see earlier parts.

**Sentences**

/_August 1st, 1998, Racoon City_/

"Gah...ow... I thought I'd finally died and gone to Hell. This is worse. Artemis, how they Hell are even _we_ going to get out of this one?" asked Chris, blinking as he sat up slowly, coming to with an expression on his face which made it very clear he wished he hadn't. True to form, though, he immediately got to his feet and, staggering only once, walked over to her position by the twisted remains of the rail on the battered walkway outside the shop.

She was looking down, straight into Hell. She didn't say a word in answer, letting the expression on her face answer him. He took a good look at her when she didn't say anything, then simply stood by her side and looked straight down himself. He knew her well enough to be well aware that when she went silent either something truly terrible had happened, or was going to.

She didn't get genuinely angry, let alone furious, ever. The scar tissue in the part of her mind that dealt with feelings after the Hellish death of her mother and her fathers subsequent descent into insanity was so thick and layered that she'd rarely felt anything honest at all ever since-Chris still had no idea just how unique that made him, she knew-but she _did_ still possess a very certain sense of right and wrong. The feelings that "drove" her now were more the memory of feelings than anything else, her duty was really all that was left connecting her to her own sanity, her brother being a complicated-_very_ complicated part of who she was and what she did now. There was no place in her for fear, either, she'd found it pointless and seen so many terrible things, _done_ so many things... The ticking Nuke in North Africa came to mind...

Right and wrong, though? Unlike some, she was _very_ certain about the difference and didn't let anything but Orders or a fatal threat on a loved one's life affect her decisions. A place like this? With everything she'd seen and done just so far since she'd gotten tied to what was going on through Chris with the blessing of her superiors at the ETC?

Surprisingly enough, that was what centred her again. Made one thought go through her head one last time where Umbrella Corporation was concerned: _this is wrong_. Once she'd made that decision, it was only ever a matter of time until she killed them all. This time around, she was even going to enjoy it. There had been men, women and children in the Mall, even babies she'd glimpsed while running, stuck in prams despite the hour. This was so far past simply "wrong" that not even death would put it right. No, Umbrella Corporation itself and everything connected to it had to be cleansed from the Earth for this...

"...I'm going to kill them all, Chris" she said, very simply and very matter-of-fact. He didn't say anything in return, but he didn't need to. Again, like maybe two other people in the world at best, he knew her better than that. She didn't miss the involuntary shiver that momentarily shook his body as she spoke, either, not that he made any attempt to move away from her at all. He knew both _who_ she was and _what_ she was, after all, he'd accepted the facts long ago now. It didn't change the fact that he'd never be comfortable with death, that simply wasn't who _he_ was.

She was glad of that and much, much more. If she ever needed a brake or a Devil's Advocate that let her know when and where she was doing the Devil's work and didn't even know it, Chris was always there to provide it. Damaged she was, but she'd never be a monster. While Chris was alive, she'd have a piece of her Soul and her heart left safe and pure in him no matter what...

"Artemis, we have to go. I think this whole place is going to collapse in minutes if were lucky and there's no way I'm hanging around to give those bastards at Umbrella even the possible satisfaction of killing a S.T.A.R.S. survivor like this, let alone knowing they've taken out someone who could do them far more damage than I ever could single-handedly, right?" said Chris, placing a hand carefully on her shoulder.

"...If were very lucky, Chris. This wouldn't be the first time I've gone up against an enemy with overwhelming advantages in numbers, firepower, resources, technology and money, I admit, but... These things just don't end well. People _die_. Do you understand that, Chris? Do you _know_ that _nobody_ is safe when a War like this breaks out?" asked Serena, still not looking at Chris, still looking straight down into the fires of Hell.

"I saw more of my friends die in the Arklay Mountains and in the Spencer Mansion than I ever want to remember, Serena. They were torn to shreds of ragged flesh and broken bone, ripped into pieces so small they couldn't be identified on sight. I saw them being eaten by what had once been other human beings, some of them came back from the dead and tried to kill me with holes in them where vital organs should have been and I had to finish them off by blasting their brains out" said Chris, no longer looking at her either.

She didn't need to wonder why, his increasingly quiet voice told her everything she needed to know, along with the strong hints of despair he was trying and failing to conceal. She'd always been too good at reading people to miss that, especially with someone she'd known for years, like him...

"The people who died out there were people I'd known well for years. I'd gotten drunk with them, talked families, played cards till four in the morning, made bets on the football games, trusted them with my life on any number of missions and shared the kind of secrets with them you only ever tell those you know better than you know your own family. I. Saw. Them. _All_. _Dead_. Do you understand _that_, Serena? What's happened just so far has already taken most of the man I was with it. I recognise loss in a way I never believed I could and I understand just what's at stake here in a way I wish to _God_ I didn't have to. The only way I'll ever put this right is if I kill every one of the bastards responsible for what happened, as far and deep into and up the Umbrella chain of command as I have to go to get it done. If I don't, I'll be found with a gun in my mouth and a note just reading _I'm so sorry_ next to me one day. Is _that_ clear enough for you?" Chris snarled, as angry as she'd ever heard him.

As he finished speaking, she turned her head to look at him and he turned his to look at her. Their eyes met-and she smiled a sad, full smile at him.

"Now you understand, Chris..." she said, slowly. Was it so wrong, she wondered, if she wished so hard that he didn't?

She looked up and straight at the Security office on what passed for the third floor. The floor had no shops on it at all, only a few storage lockers. It was half the size of the lower floors and was overwhelmingly dominated by the security office itself. It was solid and squat, ten feet long by ten feet wide and eight tall, flat surfaces on every side she had no doubt were made of inch-thick steel for security reasons. The lone solid-looking door had an electronic lock and looked like it had been built with explosives in mind.

The only way in or out was over a small bridge because metal struts supported the office in what would otherwise have been mid air, all of the plastic and glass flooring that would normally have covered everything was cut clear a full foot away from the offices base. She could tell that it got power from the main power grid via the Malls system from big, heavy and heavily sheathed electronics cables, it also had Internet connections that she could see. She'd bet that it was supplied with its own air, just to make things more interesting-and there was a chance there would be bad company inside. This was going to be fun.

She looked around, taking in the fast-rising massive fires not so far below any longer which were steadily eating what was left of the Mall, creating a heat haze so intense she could barely see straight in the process. She took in the small, intensely burning patches of fire scattered everywhere on the level she and Chris were on, catapulted so high by the initial blast of the bomb going off, which were, in some cases, already burning right through the floor.

Smoke was filling the air fast, so thickly that she was reminded of the oil fires in Kuwait back in '91. Those, though, had been filled with toxic fumes from oil and petroleum burn-off that would have burned from the inside out anyone who made the simple mistake of actually deeply inhaling the smoke without protection. Whatever had been mixed in with the bomb that had, again, nearly killed them? She had no doubt it would do something so much worse than just kill them if they were stupid enough not to keep a bullet in reserve each, just in case.

_If_ they weren't already Infected with something that even brain death couldn't stop. _If_ her plan to get them out didn't work out and they were left facing death by being cooked alive, being turned into Zombies or by simply choking to death from thick smoke. _If_ Umbrella didn't finish them off by having a second bomb dropped on the Mall to collapse the entire structure with them inside of it. Far too many "Ifs" existed in this situation to make her certain whether or not what she was planning was the right thing to do or not, a simple fact that she couldn't fix...

"Serena, I almost hate to ask... But what about the survivors we left in the Gun Shop? Could any of them have survived?" asked Chris, slowly and quietly. More pain for someone who really didn't deserve it, she knew, he'd take the losses of more lives on his watch personally, even though the blood was on the hands of Umbrella Corporation and nobody else's. Again, though, she knew Chris too well, pointing the facts out wouldn't help. All she could ultimately do to help was help him in his War against Umbrella-a struggle that was becoming increasingly appealing. She decided on the truth with Chris-after all, it wouldn't matter if she lied now or not. He was smarter than most gave him credit for, for one thing.

"They're dead, Chris, I heard two grenades go off. They killed themselves before anything else could get them. I just wonder if we're next..." she replied, softly, to a startled look from Chris. He knew that she never talked about her own death as likely because, with her, until she _was_ dead it _wasn't_, that simple. Truth be told, though, this time, she wasn't so sure...

Y

If looks could kill, Billy Coen would have been blasted all the way to New York in several small pieces by the one Barry Burton was aiming at him. However, in return, the look in Billy Coen's eyes made it look as though he'd have fought through every war ever fought on Earth, twice, just to get ten minutes alone with Barry Burton and a sledgehammer.

The volcanic exchange between the two men had begun after the huge detonation that had practically destroyed Jill's apartment despite the distance between it and the Mall, fragments of glass still visible embedded in walls, door, floor and even ceiling even as lacerated seats and bed lay in torn pieces everywhere. Barry had suddenly started throwing things around in a terrifying display of massive physical strength when it had clearly sunk in that his old friend Peyroux was dead, on the floor in front of him. He'd thrown around anything not nailed down within reach, shattering vases, teacups, jugs, even a battered wooden chair, for almost a minute before Coen had simply stepped up and punched Barry so hard in the face Amber had been shocked Barry's nose hadn't been broken even as he reeled backwards and almost fell.

Barry had straightened himself with a vicious jerk, screamed in fury and charged Coen, leading with a blurring straight right. Coen had stepped inside the strike like it was nothing and slammed such a heavy blow to Barry's stomach that even the big man hadn't been able to absorb it, forcing him to double over, wheezing and coughing, before Coen had expertly flipped him over one leg onto his back and left Barry staring straight up the business end of the AK-47 Barry had given him earlier.

That was when the shouting match had properly started, with Coen ordering Barry to shut up and calm down, Barry screaming he was going to kill Coen with his bare hands and the rest of them left looking on helplessly. That had been until Jill had pulled a pistol from a desk drawer, loaded and cocked it with a distinct "Clack" of a round sliding home and aimed at the back of Coen's head. Now Amber didn't know what was going to happen next...

"Take your gun away from my friend, right now, or I swear on my life I will kill you and enjoy watching you die" snarled Jill, her voice so cold that Amber actually did a double take when she heard it. Jill didn't sound like that, she never sounded like that. More to the point, she never, ever threatened to commit Murder, let alone in cold blood-and what she'd said, on top of her body language, left Amber in no uncertain terms sure that she was, quite literally, dead serious about her threat.

Mind, she didn't normally _look_ like that, either. Pale, sweaty, clearly so angry she was physically shaking, teeth gritted in an almost vicious expression as her eyes closed to slits. She looked...unstable, as volatile as Amber had ever seen her-and that meant as out of sorts as she'd ever been, given that she'd known Jill since they were both very young children. Jill looked like she was about to have a Breakdown right in front of them-and if she did, there was no way of telling what would happen.

Amber wanted to scream, shout, jump up and down, do anything but stand still and panic, but her mind had gone blank. She couldn't think of _anything_ likely to work under these circumstances, with Jill clearly so far out of her mind that she was only holding on by the very tips of her worn fingernails.

Self-reliant, tough, smart, capable and able, never needed help to sort herself out nor asked for it openly, Jill Valentine was a hard person to help... But Amber felt her world falling apart as she slowly realised that Jill had been keeping so much to herself to hide her true condition even from Amber, her oldest and closest friend. She couldn't be too late to help, she _couldn't..._

Amber saw Rebecca go for her own pistol and just knew that she'd put it on Jill to protect Coen. She didn't know what was between those two, but she didn't need a textbook to spot the beginnings of what looked likely to be a serious relationship building there-and, just like that, she knew how to get through to Jill, and maybe the others. How to force Jill to deal with her Demons once and for all-as far as a human mind could, at least. But it meant betraying a very serious promise to Jill... In the end, it was an easy decision. She cared enough about Jill to do whatever it took to help her, consequences be damned.

"Hey, Jill, I thought Catherine Mattis was the killer in your family!" she shouted out as loudly as she dared. The effect of shouting _that_ name aloud was, as she'd expected, instantaneous-and just as painful as she'd been worried it would be.

Everyone in the room just stopped and looked at her suddenly, clearly either thinking she'd gone crazy or wondering what the Hell she was talking about. Everyone but Jill, that was, who turned around to face her so fast she seemed to have been there the whole time. The expression on her face defied description even as her mouth worked, no words coming out... Then she screamed a combined howl of rage and outrage that sounded like it should have come out of an animals throat and charged Amber with such force Amber was taken right off of her feet and slammed into the wall behind her, so hard that she felt her ribs creak and tasted blood in her mouth as she bit deep into her lower lip.

"YOU-!" Jill suddenly screamed, even as she pistol-whipped Amber across the face with such force blood from a split lip sprayed across the apartment wall to her left. "UTTER-!" Jill's voice was only growing in volume and intensity as her knee almost seemed to carve into Ambers belly with a simply frightening surge of pain, Amber sure she'd throw up from fear as much as anything else as the beating continued. "BITCH!" Jill screamed, her voice reaching such a crescendo it was physically painful even as Jill locked both hands around Amber's throat and squeezed, darkness closing in around the edges of Amber's eyes instantly even as stars seemed to flare all across her sight. Amber's wildly flailing hands couldn't even seem to tell her where Jill physically was as her oxygen supply was cut off, there was no way she'd be able to save her own life if this didn't work-!

Strong hands suddenly wrapped around Jill's arms, hands and face, prising her hands off of Amber, who breathed in almost convulsively-and promptly collapsed like a rag doll. Jill fought like a wildcat, kicking and screaming, trying to claw and bite at Barry and Coen, but they were simply too strong for her and she'd clearly utterly forgotten that she was armed.

Then it was over, as suddenly as it had begun, as the butt of Rebecca's pistol collided so solidly with the base of Jill's skull that Amber had to wince in sympathy, although it wasn't much of an act as she felt like her bruises had bruises and she'd lost a pint of blood. It worked, though, Jill went limp instantly and was quickly dragged backwards away from Amber. Rebecca just glanced at the unconscious woman, shook her head and knelt down in front of Amber.

"Let me see that, Amber" she said, to a weak nod from Amber, who was too weak to move in any case. Rebecca began by checking Ambers jaw and cheek, tender, skilled fingers probing expertly, the result being a slight smile.

"Your tough and lucky, Amber, that punch with the pistol should have broken your jaw and your cheekbone. As it is, I'm sure she's bruised the bone as well as the muscle and flesh. Try to talk as little as possible for about a week and take painkillers every day until the swelling goes down at least. You _do_ know that was completely crazy, though, right? She'd have actually killed you if Barry and Billy hadn't pulled her off?" Rebecca said, an eyebrow raised.

"I know... But it was a choice between her killing a man in cold blood and having to live with that on her Conscience or her being mad with me for a while. I chose the lesser of two evils _for_ her. That's what best friends are for, right?" replied Amber, a pained grin somehow making it's way onto her face.

Rebecca just stared at Amber for several long seconds, then shook her head and grinned back. "You're even crazier than Chris is, you know that?" she said, dryly.

"There's no need for insults, young lady. Besides...you think he's crazy, you should meet his girlfriend" muttered Amber, already able to feel the side of her face swelling up. That got her two startled stares and one slightly surprised one-from Barry, who looked at her curiously.

"Chris is still seeing _her_...? I thought they broke up two years ago after Chris joined S.T.A.R.S. out of the Military. Talk about having your cake and eating it, though. I'd have sworn on a stack of Bibles that woman was _more_ than any grown man could handle, but I know he was seeing Jill at the same time now. Smug bastard behind all our backs, then, I guess" said Barry, chuckling lightly.

"Beg pardon, _who_?" said Rebecca, even as she glanced at Coen at the mention of seeing someone. For more than long enough, their eyes met before they looked away from each other-too slowly. Amber would have told them to get a room if she'd felt up to speaking loudly enough to be heard far enough away rather than by someone almost on top of her, like Rebecca.

"Don't ask, just think Amazonian with a body to match any fantasy, about six feet tall, black hair and blue eyes with the kind of good looks that make grown men weep and women learn about a whole new kind of lust. Dusky mixed-race skin with some Native American in there if I had to guess. The kind of presence Politicians kill for in person, too. Add in a whip-quick mind and smart as anyone your ever likely to meet outside of real high-level academic circles plus the fact she knows her way around every weapon I've even heard of and you've got some idea who your dealing with" said Barry, shaking his head.

Amber couldn't help but notice that it seemed her desperate plan had worked, at least, they were no longer all at each others throats. She simply couldn't stop herself from wondering what came next with neither her nor Jill in any shape to help and Peyroux dead, though. Oddly, she was almost more interested to hear what Barry knew about Chris's mystery girlfriend, though. She hadn't been aware that Barry even knew the woman existed up to this point.

"Once upon a time, I'd have said she was my kind of woman..." said Coen, dryly, with an obvious wink at Rebecca he didn't even try to hide this time. Her answering smile was very broad and very genuine. Amber would have sighed, but at that moment it hurt too much.

Barry just turned to look at Coen, looked him in the eyes and shook his head, a very definite no. "No you wouldn't, Billy Coen, not ever. That woman chooses her own men, believe me. Try to choose her for yourself and we'd find you dead in ways Doctors would take ten years to puzzle out. You understand me?" Barry said, very slowly and clearly.

Suddenly finding that he needed to swallow, Billy Coen did even as he nodded in silent agreement. Something in the way Barry said it all, not just because he'd used Billy's full name for the first time, made sure he knew that the older man was dead serious.

All the same, Billy couldn't help but wonder just who the Hell the woman was who could so easily leave scared a S.T.A.R.S. officer who'd seen everything Barry Burton had after seventeen years on the job. Who'd even survived the Hell of the Spencer Mansion Rebecca had been unwilling to discuss without the others consent. Which, after the nightmare journey he and she had taken together through the infested White Umbrella facility, had to be something he couldn't even begin to imagine even after what had happened in Africa...

"So" said Billy, to break the silence after Jill's outburst had wrenched them all out of their own personal problems to find a way to stop her without killing her. "Just who is Catherine Mattis, anyway?"

The expression on Ambers face at the question was what made him shut up this time. That, added to the fact he had no doubt Barry would throw him out of Jill's window without blinking if he pushed them all any harder, even though he was only trying to lighten the atmosphere.

He sighed silently, trust wasn't going to come easily with these people, let alone with him after everything... Was it ultimately worth his while sticking around to find out? He like Rebecca-Hell, _more_ than liked what he'd seen of her, he trusted her, which made her unique in the world at the moment. But did she really deserve the kind of trouble just being seen with him would cause her?

He knew how these things worked after eighteen years in the military, five of those in Special Forces, even at only thirty-five years of age. "Political Orders" wasn't a way of saying "bad" Orders, it was a way of saying "End of Career" and even just "Dead" if one failed the set task. Just like you could literally find yourself reaching for the stars and grabbing hold if things got done right.

When people with lots of money in high enough places spoke to the right people, the problem just disappeared. From the White House and the odd billionaire on down. Given what had happened to him? He had no doubt the word had already come down-and he had no way out. He was going to be running for his life for as long as he lived... But maybe the S.T.A.R.S. survivors would be too?

Y

Harvest stood on top of the very top floor of the Umbrella headquarters building, empty pistol in her right hand with smoke still drifting from the muzzle. She was standing dead centre for the helipad, surrounded by half a dozen unconscious and bleeding uniformed security guards, various weapons scattered around, several evidently having been fired from the amount of brass shell casings scattered around the roof. The tall, pale figure of Harvest, despite that, was clearly unhurt.

Regardless of the sheeting rain and biting winds, despite the thunder and lightning rolling around the city, she was staring into the increasing darkness in the direction of now very faint helicopter engines. Her lips were curled so far back from her teeth it seemed as though she was ready to take a huge bite out of anything soft enough nearby, while her eyes were focused like lasers on a fast-moving shape she shouldn't even have been able to see as the helicopter moved away. She was physically shaking with rage and her face displayed the fact she was literally seething with fury, but few knew her well enough to understand just what that meant. Certainly, she would reflect later, Cain would never understand that about her...

"Jovana? Was all of this _really_ necessary?" came a voice behind her-Lianna Styx, she immediately realised, which calmed her down a little, but nowhere near enough. The Hybrid was one of the few people she could actually talk to, who understood her well enough to realise just who and what they were really dealing with in her. The very fact Lianna was only partially human herself helped there, Harvest was sure.

"Go away, Lianna" she muttered in reply, waving her free hand absently as though she was trying to signal a passing plane. Lianna, knowing her better, ignored the warning and strolled over to stand by her side, looking up and out at the diminishing sound of helicopter engines herself. Reaching up, she removed the replacement pair of sunglasses she'd picked up on her way to the roof and revealed her Amethyst eyes

to the wind and rain. They almost seemed to glow, which was oddly disturbing in even Harvests opinion.

"You hotwired the elevator to get past the Security safeguards after Cain saw you coming. Beat unconscious four guards to reach his office, then smashed his computer and files to pieces when you found out he'd escaped. Threw his Hard Drive out of a window. Chased him upstairs on foot, took down these six guards in sixty seconds and did your best to shoot down his helicopter before he could escape. You did all of this with the intent of throwing Major Timothy Cain, Umbrella's ultimate Head of Security below Trent and the Board of Directors, out of several windows in very small pieces, a fact I know because you were shouting what you were going to do to him all the way up here. Have I missed anything?" asked Lianna, raising an eyebrow.

"No, except the reason I did it. He directly ordered that cluster fuck mission to take out Chris Redfield at his apartment and then the Mall, or I'm Tinkerbell the Fairy. We've got facilities literally blowing up in the hills, the Hive is lost, the Virus is loose in the city and central is already talking about Quarantining the entire city, of 100,000 _**people**_, Lianna, to contain the Outbreak they know is coming" said Harvest, shaking her head.

"Don't pretend that you think I care what happens to the sheep, I couldn't care less if they if they all burnt alive tomorrow. _But_, a T-Virus Outbreak amongst those numbers will go down in history as an act of Genocide by Umbrella Corporation if the truth ever gets out-and it _will_, you of all people know how impossible it is to keep a secret in the "information age". The bigger the lie the harder people try to unravel it and, more to the point, it'll be the Holy Grail for every idiot group out there who wants to fuck with the Corporation. If they ever get hold of any evidence we'll disappear under a tide of bad publicity, legal assault and probably bullets when it all comes out. Every single thing Cain's done has made it worse, you realise that?" Harvest continued, shutting her eyes for a moment even as her voice dripped venom when she mentioned Cain's name.

"Just think about it, Lianna. You and I are examples of Genetic Engineering when all is said and done, I'm dead and you're literally half not from this world. There are monsters out there, Tyrants, Hunters...what do you think will happen to us when this all breaks down? I think we should start making arrangements for afterwards _now_, Trent or no Trent. What about you?" asked Harvest, speaking far more easily to Lianna than she could to almost anyone else. Maybe she'd work out why one day...

"Funny you should put it that way..." replied Lianna, which made Harvest look at her sharply...

Y

Ada Wong had finally reached Giselle's home away from home and, in all honesty, wasn't sure what to make of it. It was a single-floor structure, physically separate from any other building, surrounded by a fence which gave ten feet of clearance on all sides from the street and all neighbouring structures. What would have been a garden in some cities was flat concrete here, with only a garden path made of broad, flat stones leading directly to the front door providing any decoration.

The solid front door was mainly steel with wood decorations from what she could see, while only two small windows were evident and those were barred. She'd seen the kind of structure before and knew there would be a back door, but she also had no doubt there would be no difference between that and the front door. The building itself spoke of 1970's origins, being built of big, solid blocks of stone and concrete which would last rather than being designed to look nice or satisfy some environmental law brought in in far more recent times. A slightly sloping roof with black-tarred tiles added little colour to the grey-painted walls.

All in all, the structure looked more like a fortress to her than it did a home of any kind, but if Giselle had wanted the lap of luxury that was where she would have been. The woman never did anything without good reason-and the fact that she'd built herself a fortress for a Safe House in Racoon City while waiting for her was enough to make Ada shudder involuntarily. Were things really _that_ bad _already_?

Giselle was as far above most tacticians and planners as Einstein was above any average person passed in the street in terms of skills, ability and knowledge, she saw the past where most people imagined the future and planned so far ahead that she commonly worked a year in advance with at least four Back-Up plans just in case. If she told you what was going to happen it _did_ happen, that Ada had learnt years earlier, when they'd been Partners together in the CIA. That meant she simply knew that something terrible was happening and was taking precautions as she saw fit. Ada had seen Giselle in combat, too, which only made her feel more uneasy. Giselle made Bruce Lee combined with Muhammad Ali look a neophyte, armed and unarmed. What could scare the woman wasn't easy to understand, let alone explain...

Ada parked on the street and looked all around herself. The area of Racoon City she was in was easily the roughest she'd seen, with buildings displaying flaking paint, cracked windows in places, a near total lack of public service signs-the first time she'd seen that in the city-battered looking cars scattered randomly up and down the road, some cars in name only since various parts were missing. Rickety fences surrounded properties, some she could see had clearly been physically shattered while some had been partially burnt. If it hadn't been for the weather, she had no doubt that she would have seen groups of teenagers, probably armed, standing around on street corners.

If Racoon City had a no-go area, Ada had no doubt this was it. Not that that would have bothered Giselle, who's method of dealing with people who tried to steal from her made sure she never met the same individual twice-if the subject survived the experience. It occurred to Ada, even as she thought that, however, that when the Outbreak _did_ occur full-out, fortifications wouldn't be enough against Zombies who, lack of coordination notwithstanding, would have superhuman strength at their disposal-and that would just be the Humanoid Zombies. No, one would need weapons to hold them back as well-and where better than a high-crime area to find people with plenty of illegal weapons?

She stepped out of the jeep, slinging on her jacket and making sure that her gun was secured under her arm. Ignoring the weather, she walked up to the front door and, noticing no bell, used the heavy bronze knocker. Five seconds later the door swung open-and Ada found herself staring down the dual barrels of a heavy combat shotgun aimed right at her face.

She almost swallowed her tongue. But then she got a good look at the woman holding the weapon on her and managed a slight smile.

Five-nine tall, with cool cloud-grey eyes that never gave away anything and jet-black hair slung over shoulders and back that fell to mid-back, dark and lustrous despite everything. Hard features which made the other woman a distinctive beauty did little to hide the lines of her face which revealed a central European ancestry-she was an ethnic Serb, Ada knew-while a leanly muscular physique didn't take away from distinctively feminine features and a gently curving physique. Striking rather than stunning, Giselle was a woman who often failed to draw the eye-but who Ada had found alluring like nobody else she'd ever met.

Her skin was so pale that it was almost pure white, while jet-black tattoo's led from her lower eyelids down over her face the way tears flowed. On her left mid upper arm a thick tangle of tattooed barbed wire was evident since she was wearing a sleeveless tight-fitting riding shirt, grey in colour, while she was wearing jet-black cycling shorts that clung to her like a second skin. It all helped to define the hard musculature that Ada loved to trace her fingers across-and Giselle's perfectly placed bare feet, which highlighted her extraordinary grace and poise as not the slightest movement was wasted.

Giselle was an extraordinary woman in appearance, nature and ability in every sense of the word, but she was Ada's own and nobody else's, at all-especially now. The smile on Ada's face turned into a smirk as she took in the other woman, then she raised an eyebrow as a slow, sultry smile started to appear on Giselle's own face.

"You know, you _could_ have just said "It's been too long, bitch", Giselle?" said Ada, making eye contact with Giselle very deliberately. Of course, even _she_ couldn't read the other woman, but that was part of the allure if she was being honest. Knowing everything about someone was often far more boring than it sounded.

"Shut up and get in here, you mad bitch" replied Giselle, her voice gently musical, even as she reached out and grabbed Ada by the front of her jacket before dragging her inside the door and kicking it shut. Ada barely even had time to notice the two deadbolts and heavy locks on the inside being thrown before Giselle tackled her almost to the floor...

Y

Chris Redfield was starting to feel as though he'd be better off dead than where he was at the precise moment in time he was coming from. It was a bizarre thought for him to be thinking, given just how committed he'd become to shutting down Umbrella Corporation and arresting _everyone_ involved following the Spencer Mansion catastrophe, but the situation was far worse than he would have needed to end up thinking about it no matter the distractions.

The Mall was almost completely ablaze with huge fires rearing further up plastic and stone walls second by second, towards them. The huge inferno was putting out so much raw heat that, even only wearing footwear and a pair of pants, he was sweating like he'd run ten miles in full gear through a desert at high sun. His mouth was increasingly parched, his eyes were blurring as the heat warped air patterns inside the Mall and he could feel the short hairs on his arms and chest starting to smoulder. Even worse again, the inferno below was still spitting out fair-sized fireballs that lit all new fires wherever they landed and promptly melted anything they hit, fireballs that were easily big enough to take both of his legs off if he was ever caught by one from directly below. He wasn't a genius, but he'd been a soldier long enough to be completely sure that just such an occurrence was only a matter of time under the circumstances.

Worst of all was the increasingly thick smoke that was making breathing harder and harder, causing him to hack and choke on fumes which could kill him if too much of them got into his lungs. The fact that the strange colouring of some of the smoke suggested there was something mixed in with it by Umbrella Corporation was something he was forcing himself not to think about, beyond making sure to avoid the coloured smoke wherever possible. If he inhaled that there was no telling what would happen to him, so considering the possibilities would only make things harder.

As a soldier one had to learn to prioritise, same with a S.T.A.R.S. officer, or people died as a near certainty. Right now, he was using every bit of discipline that fact had ever taught him to keep his mind on the job no matter what. After all, he knew Serena, if there was an escape she'd either find it or know it. If not, even considering the other surviving S.T.A.R.S.? There was nobody he'd rather die beside, fighting like Hell even as he did, to get the good job done one last time. With her, he knew where he stood.

She moved slowly and carefully up to the Security Office door, motioning for him to take the other side, He did, moving slowly and carefully to avoid getting the attention of anyone who could have been or was watching via any remaining CCTV cameras. Serna reached out to try the door lock, maybe believing that she could trick the electronic lock into opening-?

Everything suddenly happened very quickly. Even as Serena's fingertips reached the electronic lock keypad, the door lock suddenly clicked open and the door swung open inwards.

Serena was forced to take a step back to maintain her centre of gravity at the unexpected result-and saw the big gun barrel pointing out straight at her guts too late. With her reflexes she didn't take a clean hit, but with a gun that hit like the one being aimed at her a full-on hit wasn't necessary.

A deafening roar of close-quarter fire echoed around Chris's skull as he felt as though he was trapped inside some mad babies rattle for almost a minute. In that minute, he saw Serena take a blast of solid shot to her right flank just under the ribs-and the skin there disappeared right down to a torn layer of mangled flesh, out of which gleamed the exposed bone of one of her floating ribs. A massive mist cloud of blood exploded behind her even as the force of the shells impact wrenched her physically off of her feet and threw her backwards six feet through the air before she landed, hard, A small pool of blood appeared under her instantly, growing even as he watched in dumbfounded astonishment.

A split-second later, he crashed through the door and hit whoever was on the other side with a flying tackle with all of his muscle and weight behind him. He collided with a very solid arm, a mans was all he could tell for certain given the muscle he encountered….

/End of Part Twelve. All Reviews appreciated/.


	13. Chapter 13

Legal disclaimers: see earlier parts.

Disclaimers: see earlier parts.

**Sentences**

/June 18th, 2000, Manhattan Island, New York/

"If I'd known you gave Massages like this, I'd have asked Chris to arrange a meeting long ago..." purred Jill Valentine, her voice so full of pleasure that it was as though she'd never known any other way to live. She found herself leaning back into the strong fingers and hands of her companion as though she was more comfortable in contact with the other woman than loose and free, a suspicion passing through her mind that it was possible she really _was_ more comfortable in this woman's hands than she'd ever been in Chris's. Regardless, if Chris had ever given Massages like this she'd never have broken up with him, no matter Amber's advice. Some things were worth even considerable personal frustration.

"To think, all that you had to do to find out was get me into bed, lover..." replied the other woman, her fingers never stopping working the muscles and bunches of nerves across Jill's back and shoulders. The reply was dry and easily given, a gentle joke, but, despite the situation, Jill could feel herself blushing. Talk about unexpected first encounters...

That she and the other woman were in bed together was an indisputable fact, in the Penthouse floors king-size bed in fact, a huge four-person pale white sheets affair that was circular and so soft one could almost literally sink into it in easy rest and relaxation. The big bedroom came with what looked like a small Chandelier, lit up at this time of evening-nearly midnight-to illuminate a soft pale cream carpet that was so thick it swallowed the sound of people walking on it like an ocean swallowed up pebbles. Cupboards, tall and slim and designed with doors that did nothing to damage the ambience of the room, which was constructed of artfully decorated wooden walls-over brick, of course-were set right next to the one main entrance.

The entrance could be and was, of course, closed off from the rest of the apartment with a thick door, constructed of metal overlaid with wood. The fact that when the door was closed the room was fully soundproofed was, of course, coincidental. In the same way that rain coming out of rain clouds was, that is.

Beyond the door lay an Honour bar set up like a small Nightclub, a living room with a huge pine table for eating from, a huge, fat black sofa and two armchairs that surrounded a Universal-size television set which came complete with top-of-the-line films on order and every channel available in the USA as a matter of course. Broad windows and a balcony were all curtained off by heavy cream-white curtains which were guaranteed not see-through in the light. Beyond those lay a _very_ modern kitchen which could have satisfied a starving family of six with the amount of food stored and the facilities available in Jill's opinion. Last of all, there was the bathroom which, apart from the toilet, also contained a Sauna, a Whirlpool bath and a Power Shower.

Jill had yet to try any of the facilities because of her very late arrival, a necessary security precaution with Umbrella Corporation trying so hard to find them. Chris had pointed out that the woman she was going to meet wouldn't have been followed herself, nor would she have _allowed_ Jill to be followed anywhere, more than once, but after everything she'd been through since the Spencer Mansion Jill had gotten into the habit of playing it safe-_very_ safe. Once she'd actually met the woman in question, however, she'd quickly understood the reason for Chris's confidence. She wasn't the kind of individual-or Operative-who made those kinds of mistakes. She'd also turned out to have the kind of presence that made you listen because _you_ thought that you should after meeting her, not least because she'd turned out to be a very smart woman indeed.

Jill had arrived at 10.59 sharp, wearing a worn dark brown Bomber jacket, battered but serviceable dark-blue jeans, grey sneakers in case of the necessity of a quick exit, a light-blue t-shirt and a grey baseball cap. She hadn't been able to carry a gun into the hotel since it had metal detectors, but a Garrotte with plastic handles, a length of wire lined with flint teeth and a pair of reinforced plastic knives were a different matter, all carefully hidden. The knives were in a concealed holster in the small of her back, the Garrotte was concealed inside her belt buckle, the wire strung around one carefully padded upper leg.

It was amazing, it had turned out since they'd all had to go so deep into hiding, just how much so little camouflage could hide even in the age of CCTV cameras which could identify anyone in the world from a snapshot of a fragment of face these days. All you had to do was be careful to duck or shift at just the right time-although, to be fair, it _was_ only whatever resources Umbrella had at its disposal that were really trying to track them down. If it had been the US Government itself? They'd have had to run for Mexico to stand any real chance at all.

Thankfully, they were all a long way down the "Most wanted" list in reality, for all of Umbrella's attempts at character assassination and blacklisting over the years. The people who really mattered in high places, it seemed, had a better idea than might have been expected of what had actually happened. Which meant that they were, presumably, only putting out a net at all because of Umbrella's influence?

Once inside the room, she'd met _her_ for the first time. Sitting completely at ease on the sofa, dressed in an off-the-shoulder raven-black blouse, loose leggings of the same colour and barefoot, legs crossed under her as a pair of sturdy light-brown shoes sat on the floor beneath her. She'd been reading through a book titled "_Assassini_", and, without even looking up, she'd just said "Hello, Jill" as though they were old friends catching up after a long time apart. Then she'd looked up, Jill had made the mistake of locking eyes with the woman's incredible, exquisite eyes-and, in one frozen moment, had known that she'd jump off of a cliff if the woman had asked her to after looking closely into _those_ eyes.

She barely remembered what had happened next. She'd been offered a drink but had politely, if in a slightly dazed way, refused, still unable to take her eyes off of the other woman. The dark beauty had just smiled and introduced herself as "Serena Baccarin", the words coming out of rich red lips which almost begged to be kissed. From there to the bedroom, behind closed doors, wearing nothing but her pants and being massaged underneath the sheets of a bed by a half-naked woman she barely knew, was a short journey that seemed to have escaped her attention somehow. Not that the delicious curves of Serena's body had, barely concealed by tight-fitting bloody red underwear.

She just hoped her physical attraction to the woman wasn't as obvious as she felt it was. It was so rare that she was really attracted to another woman that she fact she even was...well, embarrassing just about started to cover it. She liked men, she really did, the way they smelled, the rough way they tended to handle her, the scrape of the occasional slight beard and whiskers on her own smooth skin, the strength they displayed every time she was held in a mans arms. Sometimes, she even liked the way they kissed-that had been how she and Chris had gotten started, come to think of it, after a drunken Snog had turned into something else at a bar when they'd both stayed late after a party...

In point of fact, she'd only ever kissed a woman once to see what it was like-not bad-but, even so drunk she could barely stand up, she hadn't been able to go through with it, which had led to her Date storming out and slamming the front door with such force she'd rattled every window in the house. She'd woken up with a stinking hangover and a sense of great relief that she'd managed to stop herself before an unforgivable mistake had occurred. She'd made sure she was right with her then-boyfriend the very next night, in fact.

But now? With a woman like _this_ straddling her back and giving her such a sensuous massage that she'd almost rather go back to Chris than subject her increasingly aroused body to any more less-than-subtle physical flirtation, if that was what this was? She didn't know what to do. For one thing, though, she didn't dare turn over or meet the woman's eyes for certain. If she did, what little self-control she had left would evaporate like mist in the summer winds. Just imagining the woman's hands on parts of her body other than her back made her heart beat so hard and fast that she was sure she'd crack a rib. She had to say something...but she didn't want to...

"So who's idea was this way of meeting? Yours or his?" asked Jill, settling back down and closing her eyes to just enjoy herself. Serena had such skilled fingers she was working magic on a body that hadn't properly relaxed in years. She didn't want her to stop...but could she let her continue?

"His, but I didn't Veto it. To be honest, I thought it was just another example of his version of a sense of humour at play. Having his girlfriend and his ex meet up in a place like this using Aliases that suggest their Lesbian lovers is just the way he works" replied Serena, with a smirk that Jill could feel as much as sense without turning around to look. It was everything Jill could do not to suggest that he might have had something else in mind, too, after Amber had suggested to Chris that with two women like the two of them both after him, after a fashion, he should either put his foot down and choose one or expect the two of them to do it for him. Their meeting here had been his response.

"I see, I agree too. But...didn't we agree to meet up to trade War stories about Umbrella, compare notes on strategies and discuss Chris...pretty much in that order?" Jill managed to say, her words being disrupted momentarily as one of Serena's hands drifted off of her back and traced its way along her left side, a fingernail tracing across the edge of her breast in such a way that it took real physical effort not to jump. She breathed in so sharply, though, that she doubted someone outside the room could have missed her reaction to even such a slight touch. Serena certainly didn't.

"We have a little time yet and Chris...isn't here, now is he? _I_ am. So why don't you tell _me_ what you won't tell _him_?" Serena stage whispered, her breath warming the back of Jill's neck. This time Jill didn't even try to resist the tremble that ran across her back at the touch, even though she was sure Serena would recognise the reaction of desire when she saw it. Maybe she was misreading what was being offered here? Maybe now _was_ the time to...deal with something she'd never been quite sure about herself?

"Alright, if were being honest. Chris is great in bed, but he's a slob in person and has never left the pilot mindset behind. He still thinks he can just come home from his next flight and clean up then, but now he _lives_ there when he's not on missions and it hasn't sunk in after two years as a Cop in every way that matters. I spent six months in and out of his place and his bed when we were still dating, but it never made a difference. I regularly found unwashed clothes draped over almost every flat surface, half-eaten food stuffed back in the fridge for later, reheated coffee being what was constantly the warm drink on offer. I more often than not ended up doing all of his shopping myself, unless it was for fast food. Ring any bells?" asked Jill, honestly wondering what Serena's reply would be since the older woman had supposedly known Chris back in his military days.

To her surprise, Serena actually laughed-she would only find out years later just how unusual that was. Jill almost froze up as she felt Serena's fingers drift up from her back and on into her loose hair, but Serena's fingers were just as skilled playing with hair as they were with muscles and nerves. The only real problem was that the contact was as though someone had sent an electric shock straight to Jill's heart. Still, she couldn't bring herself to put a stop to it even as her heart hammered madly away...

"I wouldn't know, in fact. He crashed at my place after he got an Honourable Discharge from the Air Force and if he'd lived like that in my home he'd have ended up cleaning it all up himself, naked, believe me. _After_ which he'd have had to make it worth my while to have put up with it in the first place. Not that he's ever failed me that way..." said Serena, her fingers playing with Jill's hair in such a way that Jill felt her breath coming faster as the moments passed.

She tried to tell herself she was reacting to Serena's comment about Chris's prowess in bed-although the image in her mind of him being forced to clean her apartment naked held distinct possibilities-since she had first-hand knowledge of the way Chris could play a woman's body like a Maestro crossed with Casanova. She tried, but she failed. Her body wouldn't let her deny the truth, it was that simple. A thought occurred to her.

"Serena...just how much did he learn from _you_ about what he does "that way"?" asked Jill, trying not to purr with pleasure as she spoke and failing utterly. She was _so_ glad that Claire and Rebecca would never hear about this, no matter what else happened tonight. She'd never hear the end of it concerning her personal "Amazon" after something like this, she knew.

"You tell _me_ something first. Do you want me to _tell_ you...or _show_ you?" asked Serena, even as her hands left Jill's hair and Jill heard the snap of a catch before material rustled over silken skin and Serena tossed her bra away, leaning down over Jill so close that they could have touched if either breathed in deeply. Jill swallowed...

Then she rolled over, met Serena's eyes and traced her right cheek with her left hand, while her right pressed over Serena's heart, almost eclipsing the Phoenix firebird tattoo there. She felt the fast but steady heartbeat there, her hand pressed against flawless silken skin. Serena was a fantasy in form to any eye...

"Show me" said Jill, her voice a whisper, so quiet she almost couldn't believe that it was her own. Needing no further invitation, Serena leaned into the kiss and lowered herself onto Jill with a gentle presence and pressure that no man had ever managed-all of them had been too eager to get what they wanted from her, Jill suddenly realised. This was something _very_ different.

Jill had kissed a woman before and, from her actions, so had Serena-but, it occurred to Jill as the kiss grew deeper and far more passionate, she'd never _really_ kissed a woman, not if this was anything to go by. Serena's long, lean body was all full, firm curves, smooth bone structure and muscle, slim yet powerful, but she didn't seem to weigh anything at all as their bodies almost seemed to complete one another. Despite the air conditioning sweat-slick skin slid smoothly together, Jill's hands pressing into Serena's hair against the back of her head to press them even more closely together as her legs clamped around Serena's waist joining together at the ankle behind the other woman's back, her free hand tracing the smooth play of muscle across Serena's back. Somehow, despite the body on offer, that just seemed right to Jill-for now.

Serena was demonstrating her unusual physical strength without even clearly being aware of it as she used one hand to press Jill's own head to hers, another sliding up and down the upper part of Jill's left arm hard enough to hurt. Jill didn't care and didn't even register the slight pain. Serena's legs were threatening to tear right through the bed sheets as she drove the two of them up to the edge of the bed, all to gain better access to Jill's body. She would have been worried about falling to the floor under other circumstances, but the carpet in here would have absorbed any fall and she knew the two of them wouldn't have noticed regardless.

Jill's hands changed position and began to explore Serena's body properly as the other woman abruptly sat up, taking Jill with her to the vertical through brute strength in such a way that Jill and she ended up directly opposite one another, Jill still wrapped around Serena as though she couldn't get enough of her. God, Serena was a beautiful woman and everything her hands encountered just confirmed that, every time. Serena's hands matched hers all of the way, in the process becoming more intimately aware of Jill's body than any boyfriend she'd ever had. No woman allowed a man to just sit there and cop a feel, not even during sex unless you were too preoccupied to care, as it would have been even with Chris. With Serena, a woman, like this? It just seemed so natural...

Serena's lips moved to her throat and then to a breast, before Serena placed her head side-on against Jill's chest just to listen to her heartbeat. Jill held her close for several Eternity-long moments, then gently reached out and pushed Serena over onto her back and almost away. She leaned forwards and kissed Serena on the lips again, which she drank in hungrily before working her way down Serena's throat and deeper, addressing both breasts, heart, chest, stomach and both inner thighs...

Serena suddenly rolled out from under Jill, moved to the edge of the bed and sat bolt upright. Then she stood up and strode out of the room without looking back, to Jill's astonishment and no slight disappointment. Not to mention shock, nobody just got up and walked out on a connection like _that_...

She came back in seconds later, but this time she was holding two Tumbler glasses half-full of what Jill was sure was whiskey. Sitting back down on the bed, she placed one next to Jill and sat down with her own, silently, not looking at Jill at all. She was less than a novice at reading a woman's body language in a situation like this, but Jill knew something she really wasn't going to like was coming. Somehow, though, this did nothing to put her off. She _wanted_ Serena, more than she'd ever wanted any man she could think of...

"Jill...it was never supposed to go this...far, I suppose" came Serena's first words, even as Jill moved over to her and ran her fingers through Serena's hair. Serena did nothing to stop her, but nothing to encourage her either-only she couldn't disguise her reaction to Jill's presence. Even she, it seemed, didn't have that kind of self-control.

"Tell me Chris put you up to this and I _will_ kill you" muttered Jill, ignoring the whiskey as she placed both hands on Serena's shoulders and nuzzled her neck. She was tempted to taste the tawny skin half-hidden by the black hair, so she did. Even with the tang of sweat, it tasted like strawberries and she smelt like an oak forest.

"He didn't, but he _did_ suggest he thought you were probably Gay because of the way you dumped him after all of the great sex. I told him he was an idiot and I'd prove it. I...didn't expect to react to you like that. Didn't think I _could_ react like that to anyone any longer. I've been all about the act since I was sixteen, Chris is one of my very few exceptions. You, though... I'm not honestly sure _what_ just happened" said Serena, shaking her head. She put down her glass as Jill pulled her over backwards and laid her down flat so they would have to look one another in the eyes. She didn't seem to mind.

"So it's him I should kill? Or kiss, perhaps? You know, Serena, people like you and I of all people know that sometimes things just..._happen_, sometimes, two lonely Souls finding each other in the night in a way they'd never have imagined before everything changed for them both. Personally, I think that we should stop arguing and just see where it leads us. I'd like to find out, myself..." said Jill, leaning over Serena in such a way that both women knew they weren't going to resist at least one more kiss-maybe more.

"Jill...this is a _big_ mistake to make. We might keep anything which happens between us from Chris, from anyone else at all, but it will change everything for _us_. I like you, Jill, I really do... But this isn't me, or you. If we do this, go through with...whatever we have here...things will _never_ be the same. Do you understand that? _Really_ understand that?" asked Serena, her eyes still intense although Jill could tell from looking in her eyes that her resolve was as good as gone.

"Better than you know. Now shush, I'm tired of talking..." replied Jill, very quietly.

"Is it worth pointing out I'm not a Lesbian and _am_ a professional Assassin at this point? That both of us care about Chris, body and Soul?" asked Serena, even as she rose into Jill's kiss, her voice even quieter than Jill's. She clearly didn't care any longer in Jill's eyes, regardless. She was just saying what she felt had to be said before this happened.

Even as their lips met again, Jill spoke one last time. A single word.

"No."

/End of Part Thirteen. All reviews welcomed/.


	14. Chapter 14

Legal disclaimers: see earlier parts.

Disclaimers: see earlier parts.

**Sentences**

/August 1st, 1998, Racoon City/

Serena Baccarin had been recruited as little more than a girl by the ETC after her "exploits" first time around in Iraq and, as it had turned out and no little to her own surprise, she had turned out to have a real talent for killing. In fact, it was no exaggeration to say that she ranked in the top five percent of the ETC's field agents, nor that _that_ placed her about fifth if one were deranged enough to attempt to create a list of the ten most lethal people on the planet.

Where "Killer" Kain, her Mentor and Agent in charge of training recruits, came on that list, she'd never dared consider. She had a suspicion that he was so dangerous he was on a different list altogether, one that was so secret she'd never even guess at its existence in reality, but she made a point of not thinking about that matter. After all, Kain simply _was_, if he wanted to kill someone or destroy something they or it would be gone the next day and nobody would be able to explain how it had been accomplished.

Kain never did anything but smile when people were actually stupid enough to ask him for answers, which was as close to a Death Sentence as she could think of. He had only two moods she knew of, polite and lethal. She'd learnt, a long time ago, never to mistake one for the other. People who did...well, occasionally bits of them were found in the labs or Medical Research. Sometimes, in the feed bowls of the dogs that were part of the Security set up. However, thinking of what the old man would do in this situation was worse than pointless. For one thing, she knew that he'd never have been stupid enough to get blasted with a shotgun at point-blank...

Fortunately, or unfortunately, she and pain were old friends. Part of the ETC "Curriculum" involved testing the pain, physical resilience and stress tolerance levels of all of their Agents to the point of self-destruction-and past, if required standards weren't met. Her own results had been...exceptional. Physically and mentally assaulted, without a break, with every form of psychological and physical assault possible without a chance of death or permanent injury short of extraordinary incompetence, she had lasted 52 hours-and simply hadn't broken.

Eventually the prolonged "Testing" had, in reality, left her in a Coma for a week, but the ETC took very good care of it's people and when she'd finally recovered enough to wake up and see what had happened her uniform, gear and ID had simply been left by her head on the pillow. No questions had been asked of her strength of will or her commitment after that, at all. It had only taken starvation, drugs, regular beatings, Sensory Deprivation, extensive torture, Rape and so many other nightmares she had no wish to recall them all to prove herself. None of those were important now, after all.

No, what was important now was how they taught one to _deal_ with pain, to cut it out of your consciousness and find a way to _force_ the body to function, even Critically or Mortally wounded. You could let yourself be crippled by pain or you could embrace it, pull it into yourself, use it as force to drive your mind and wounded body to impossible efforts so you could and would succeed, regardless of everything and anything. You could lock it away using Meditation techniques, leaving you free to function-but that would leave you unable to tell just how bad the injuries really were and whether or not you were dying. Or...she _did_ carry very particular, very powerful drugs which would put her back on her feet even if her intestines were falling down around her ankles.

But, she was going to use the pain to propel her back into motion here, she needed to be clear-headed and ready to help out Chris here, any way she could, which she needed to be alert to do. She just hoped that he could last long enough to give her time to help him...

Y

Chris Redfield would have found it funny if he'd had time to think straight, given that he was, yet again, staring death full in the face after being stuck in yet another survival horror situation after Hell of the Spencer Mansion. But, yet again, he had no time to think, only _act_, once he threw himself through the door straight at whoever had shot Serena.

Fortunately, he was smart enough to be well aware that thinking was not his strong point while violence was, why he had originally joined the Air Force, so he stopped thinking and got ready for another fight even as he charged. It didn't even occur to him that, just maybe, using that very ability could have saved him _before_ he went crashing in.

The remarkably solid and muscular arm he hit didn't react too well to the contact. He grabbed hold of it with both hands and did his best to crush the bones and tear the muscles with brutal strength-only the arm immediately wrenched upwards with such force that his head hit the roof with enough force to rattle his teeth in his head. He was flung sideways, still attached to the arm, bouncing off of the edge of a computer console with enough force to crack a rib, then a foot slashed into his guts so hard and fast he felt his stomach being crushed against his spine.

He didn't care, seeing the woman he loved nearly die from a gunshot wound that should have been his had bypassed his common sense and run a direct line to the fury and insanity that had been building inside him since the Spencer Mansion. Death wasn't the end where Umbrella Corporation was concerned, he knew that far too well, so the threat of it would no longer affect him, either.

He let go with one hand and rabbit punched his opponent three times in the guts, with force his whole body had no business possessing, before the stock of a heavy shotgun came out of nowhere and flattened his nose against his face with breathtaking impact. He used it to get his free hand on his opponents gun hand, got hold of the trigger finger and wrenched it back so hard he felt it snap three times even before blood was suddenly pouring over his hand.

His opponent finally made a sound, howling in pain-it dimly registered that he hadn't even been sure that his opponent was a man up to that point, nor that they were fighting in total darkness because the Security Office's internal lighting was all out. Yet again, though, he didn't care. The mans free hand grabbed his shoulder, impossibly strong fingers biting into muscle and tendon, grabbing nerves in a way which suggested he was going to rip Chris's arm right off when he got the chance.

Chris's arm went completely numb, but Chris just let go of the mans hand and grabbed his balls with a vice-like grip that would have done Barry Burton proud and squeezed with such force he felt something tear. This time, the sound the man made was almost too high-pitched and painful to be real before he dropped his shotgun with a very solid thud and started slamming his fists into Chris's ribs, left and right, so hard and fast that Chris could barely take in the fact that his ribs were cracking and snapping with each hit.

When a massive, bald head suddenly reared out of the darkness, attached to a thick neck and shoulders so broad and visibly muscular that Chris would have panicked if he'd been in his right mind, tiny eyes squinting at him in the dark, Chris just smiled the smile of the truly demented. Then, even as that massive head collided with his own with a sickening crack of bone on bone and red sparks fired behind Chris's eyes, Chris's hand let go of the mans arm and grabbed his head-through the eyeballs like a bowling ball. The man was just quick enough to save his right eye, but Chris felt something slimy puncture under his fingernail even as his finger slid deep into meat, reaching past bone for brain-

The mans screaming rose in pitch to real howls of agony suddenly, then two huge hands reached Chris at groin and scalp, lifted him as though he weighed left than a sheet of paper and threw him at the doorway like he was a huge ball. Chris, side on to the door, stood no chance of fitting through and, worse, almost broke his back on impact, but he just didn't care as a red haze overtook him and all rational activity ceased. He knew, on some level, that the pain, injury and sheer stress of everything, combined with the horror of what he had been through and his concern for everyone he cared about, especially Serena, had finally driven him past breaking point, but at the time he was so angry it was just something to be used to his advantage. After all, Berserkers had been known throughout history as among the most formidable warriors ever, armed or not, Serena would later point out.

The huge man threw a punch which hit home in the centre of Chris's chest with such force, even as he scrambled to his feet, he felt his breastbone crack and blood was suddenly in his throat. Chris just spat it out all over the man, ignored a second punch which glanced off of a still-numb shoulder even as he leapt forwards and used his whole body as a battering ram as he aimed himself straight at the mans gut like a human missile.

From six feet away and given Chris's deranged strength, even the huge man couldn't handle the impact and he bent over double, coughing and choking even as blood exploded from his own lips. Chris had no doubt his assault had done internal injury, but he didn't stop and followed through with a double-handed uppercut which snapped his opponents head back with such force that his head literally hit the roof. He punched the man in the throat as hard as he could twice, for good measure, before the man came back at him and a huge hand grabbed him by the back of the head then went on to slam him face-first into the computer console.

Chris managed to turn his head at the last moment, but the right side of his face took the full force of the impact and sharp edges opened his face in several places even as his eye was closed by simple impact injury. He didn't bother trying to beat the huge mans strength, he simply lashed out with a back kick which hit his opponent in the injured groin. The man grunted in pain, but his grip slackened and Chris tore loose, leaving some hair in the mans fingers. Then, with a smile, before the man could even react, he turned his head sharply and bit as deeply into the mans arm as he could before wrenching backwards with his jaw locked.

A huge chunk of meat and tissue came out of the mans arm as Chris wrenched backwards away from it, followed by pulsing jets of blood from a severed artery. His opponent didn't make a sound this time, just stared stupidly at the awful wound in growing horror-

"**FUCKING** _**DIE**_!!!" screamed Chris, the first thing he'd said since the fight started, even as, impossibly, he lifted a man twice his own weight off of his feet and threw him out of the door right past Serena. The man landed on his front-all well and good, as Chris leapt clear himself and landed dead centre on the mans back. The sound of the mans back breaking and the sickening spasm of muscle that made his whole body jerk as Chris rammed both feet down again and again in a demented fury would have made Chris sick, once. He no longer cared about any of that, not after...

It registered that the man was still breathing, somehow. Chris stopped jumping up and down on his ruined back, jumped off of the man and wrapped both hands around the dying mans throat. He made a point of looking the helpless man right in the eye even as he squeezed, an inhuman snarl twisting his entire face.

"**I**. **SAID**. _**DIE**_!!!!!" Chris screamed into the mans face, his voice rising to a level that just "screaming" wasn't a strong enough word, spittle spattering all over the other man's face. Even as the other mans face finally went completely empty in death, though, Chris couldn't help but notice that there was absolutely no expression in his eyes... He broke the man's neck for good measure, then threw the remains into the fires coming to kill him and Serena. For all of his bulk, the man barely registered as a flicker in the fire before he was ashes and gone.

Very suddenly, Chris felt utterly shattered, the madness abruptly gone from him. He slumped to the floor, feeling more exhausted than he ever had... Then he almost leapt straight back to his feet as something sharp moved inside him with a yelp of pain. He coughed suddenly-and saw blood, _way_ too much blood.

He managed to stand up straight with an awful effort of will and made his mind work despite the pain screaming at him from every single part of his abused and broken body. Cracked and broken ribs were no longer possibilities, they were facts. His hands were so battered he could barely move his fingers, his legs were so weak he was having to focus on standing up and nothing else just to keep upright. Every part of his body felt like it had been worked over with red-hot sledgehammers and he could feel bits of plastic still stuck in the wounds on the right side of the face. Where his opponent had tried for a nerve pinch, his entire left arm and shoulder were _still_ numb, which he knew _really_ wasn't good...

_Serena_. Bad as he was, she'd effectively been disembowelled by a close-range shotgun blast who knew how long ago. If she'd bled to death or gone into shock and suffered a heart attack or worse, all of this would have been worthless. He needed to check _now_-although, somehow, he just knew that it would take far more than even being gutted while still alive to put her down for good, or anything close...

Y

Serena couldn't do anything but blink as a huge man she'd never seen before abruptly went literally flying past even as she finally managed to get into a sitting position following the sounds of a vicious fight inside the Security Office. She could only blink again as an extremely battered looking Chris, looking as though he'd both survived and escaped from a horror movie being made in Hell, emerged with a massive leap and landed squarely on the bigger mans back with an awful crack that could only mean one thing. That Chris then went on to throttle the man to death with his bare hands before breaking his neck for good measure and throwing him into the fires below with a strength which suggested the bigger man was beneath his attention and weighed less than paper handkerchief almost worried her.

What _did_ concern her was the fact that she got a good look at Chris's opponent before the end of the brutal fight-and the filmy blue eyes could only mean one thing, even though the man was clearly no Zombie. Before she could say anything, though, Chris had thrown the man into the fire and solved the problem for good.

The other thing that concerned her, though, was Chris himself, who was literally covered in blood and gore. With the other mans body gone, he literally collapsed with exhaustion and injury-then sprang back to his feet even faster than he'd gone down, his face contorted with pain. With just her eyes she could detect any number of fractures, contusions and areas of severe bruising, including small cuts all over his body the battered Chris probably wasn't even aware of.

The right side of his face was puffy and swollen, she could see bits and pieces of what looked like plastic sticking out of some of the deeper wounds, some just missing the eye, which was gummed shut with a layer of blood covering it on top of swelling forcing it closed. She'd seen people dead with less severe injuries, seen people confined to hospital beds for weeks and even months with just _some_ of the injuries Chris had suffered...

"Bloody Hell... Chris, will you come over here, please? I don't think that I can stand up" she called out, the sound of her voice dragging Chris's head around slowly. His eyes were disturbingly blank at first, but when his face came around to face hers some form of intelligence and sanity returned as he nodded, slowly.

He turned around dangerously slowly and walked over to her with a slow, unsteady gait that suggested one wrong movement meant he would fall down and die. She could see the agony written across his contorted face and in his half-closed eyes, she could almost feel the pain of broken bones cutting into soft flesh under his skin as he kept his arms to his sides in an evident effort to keep movement in his upper chest area down to an absolute minimum. She could see the thick trail of still-flowing red blood pouring down his face over his mouth from his ruined nose. Worst of all, even as he breathed, nosebleed or not she could see the flecks of blood that were coming out of his mouth with every breath, see the slow trickle that was coming out of the right side of his mouth.

She was a fully qualified and experienced Battlefield Medic and Surgeon, she knew what to look for and how to deal with it as long as someone was still alive to be saved. She could perform Triage if she needed to, make the hard call of whether or not a casualty was going to live or die depending on the severity of their injuries without immediate medical intervention. Given what had happened to both her and Chris, now, she didn't rate the chances of either of them too highly.

She'd suffered a major gunshot trauma to the lower right chest which had pierced right through into the chest cavity. Internal injuries were almost a certainty, internal bleeding _was_ a certainty, with the likelihood of concussive injury to be added due to the point-blank nature of the gunshot. Massive loss of blood from her injuries would, she had no doubt, leave her completely incapacitated in ten to fifteen minutes, dead with no hope of revival for certain in twenty to thirty minutes. Was she going to die? She'd cross that bridge when she came to it.

Chris, without a more detailed examination, had several broken and cracked ribs, massive and severe bruising across his entire body and deep cuts which were likely infected across the entire right side of his face. He likely had a Concussion and so much in the way of cuts of varying severity all over him that that she would have needed to do a full examination just to be able to properly ascertain precisely how badly torn up he really was. His nose was simply shattered, almost smeared across his face, a fact that she was sure would prevent the blood from clotting for some time due to the simple nature of the injury. On top of which, when it _did_ stop bleeding, he'd have serious problems breathing properly added to the effects of his facial injuries.

Worst of all was the fact that he was coughing up blood, however, especially since she couldn't detect any sign of significant injury to the throat. The sharp edge of a broken rib had to have punctured a lung, which was where the blood was coming from as his body tried to expel it. It was incredible he was even standing up so seriously injured, let alone mobile, but that was one of the things she'd always really liked about him. Just like her, he was incapable of giving up on anything while he was still alive. While he still could he would, as simple as that.

"Hiya, Artemis...you look like...I feel..." muttered Chris Redfield, his voice so weak she could barely hear him. Despite that, he managed to reach out and run a blood-smeared hand through her hair-not that it mattered, her hair was already literally drenched in her own blood. Plus, she suspected it made them both feel just a little better-and everything counted in this sort of situation.

"I look like I have a large hole where a...chunk of my side used to be, Chris. You, at least, are still in one piece" she replied, trying to ignore the sudden catch in her breathing that tried to make her cough. She succeeded, of course, but could still feel herself growing faint. The loss of blood was evidently just as bad as she'd estimated it would be...

That meant she was going to die. Why did she feel such a strange sensation creeping over her at the thought, though? Not anger, not desperation, not fear? Not even denial, but the most odd sensation of all for her: Peace...?

"It only hurts...when I...breathe. So, why are...you sitting around, anyway?" asked Chris, a shudder of agony passing through his entire body that he couldn't conceal, one that made every muscle in his body jerk uncontrollably and nearly knocked him over.

"I like this position. It catches the moonlight well, I get warmed by the fire and I can hear the sirens over the sound of helicopters. Besides...if I even managed to stand up, I think my guts would fall out" replied Serena, a grim smile on her face. Chris returned one that was leaking blood. They both knew the end was near.

"Good point. Hold on" replied Chris before, very carefully, lowering himself into a seated position. By the time he managed to actually sit down tears of pain were running down his cheeks and his hands were shaking, but he didn't let it stop him. That done, he slung an arm around her shoulders and they, carefully, leant into one another, she even let her head fall onto his shoulder.

"You know that the last one you killed was a BOW, Chris? Impressive and pretty sexy, you know" said Serena, her voice soft as she slung an arm around Chris in return.

"He was? Oh, well, he seemed tougher than usual, but I wasn't really thinking straight after I saw you go down. I just had to kill him" replied Chris, even as Serena reached up with her free hand and started pulling bits of plastic out of his face. It only took her a few seconds to finish the job, even less than it had taken her to notice the fact that the two of them were seated in a growing pool of her blood. It just didn't seem important any longer, somehow.

"Your sweet, Chris. I always want any man who'll kill for me and actually does _bad_, anyway, so that just makes my point that were good together again" said Serena, before she looked up at him and kissed him on the cheek. She tasted his blood on her lips, but didn't care. It was just as much a part of him as everything else.

"Hell, I knew I was dating an Assassin back in '96, Sera, before you told me. Did you really never think I might wonder just why you were really so good at killing after Iraq? I saw your face when you were fighting, even for your own life, you were practically getting off on it. I'm not the sharpest tool in the tray, but if I'd had a problem with what you are I'd have made sure you knew back then. I can't think of anyone I'd rather go down fighting the good fight with" replied Chris, raising her hand to his lips and gently kissing the back of it. She actually smiled at that.

"I guessed that you did, but I knew you'd say something if it was a problem. By the way, since were going to die in here there's something you should know. I'm pretty sure that I'm in love with you" said Serena, without raising her voice at all.

Chris just leaned his head atop hers. He didn't say anything for a long moment. Then he let out a slow sigh.

"Thanks for that, me too. If we get out of here, will you marry me?" he asked.

"Sure, but lets take Umbrella Corporation down first, okay? Or we'll never get a moments peace" replied Serena, feeling her body going increasingly cold and numb. Still, she wasn't dead yet...

"Okay, but just for fun, how were you going to get us out of here if we were still healthy enough to move-?" Chris began, before getting cut off by a sudden roar of helicopter engines as a helicopter suddenly swung in directly over them. Serena's eyes swung up towards it even as the tremendous downdraft blasted down on them so hard that the weakened walkway they were on threatened to simply collapse under them. Side-mounted high-power lights swung to fix on them, but even the dazzling light show didn't stop her sharp eyes picking out the word SWAT on the helicopters side. Big, black and full of armed men with big guns. This was it, she knew it...

Which was why even she was taken by surprise when a rope ladder swung down on top of them from the helicopters open side door, the weighted end just missing Chris's head as he managed to duck. His jaw dropped and his eyes shot open, but he still had the presence of mind to grab the end of the ladder with both hands with a death grip as it swung back towards them. Serena did the same, although she could feel the huge wound in her side tearing open further even with just such a slight sharp movement as raising her arms-then the helicopter jerked upwards sharply and the two of them were catapulted into the air, right through the destroyed ruins of the Malls roof into thin air which was filled with smoke.

Chris Redfield turned chalk white with strain and effort from head to toe as he did everything he could to hold on tight, knowing that to fall was to die a death it was almost too horrible to imagine. Serena felt something hideous happen to her injury and the rest of her body around it as they were wrenched into the air in defiance of gravity, something so terrible even she couldn't resist a scream of utter agony tearing free of her, but it was this or dead so she shut out everything but focusing on holding onto the ladder.

They moved some distance, she could tell that much from just the way they wind pressed against her for what her internal clock told her was a good five minutes, but then they stopped-and, incredibly, she felt solid ground under her feet momentarily. She blinked her eyes open and saw they were maybe three feet above the top of a building, but what really got her attention was a tall, heavily muscled red-bearded and red-headed man standing on the roof bellowing instructions over what could only be a Mobile phone. She knew him from her research: Barry Burton, one of the surviving S.T.A.R.S. Bravo team members and the man who had recruited Chris into the organisation. A rare honest and decent man, like Chris.

Standing next to him was a man she suspected she knew but couldn't easily place, despite the tattoos on both arms, long black hair and soldiers bearing-the word soldier brought it all into focus. Billy Coen, ex-Delta Force, now Fugitive from Military justice and reported dead after the team transporting him and the man himself disappeared in the forests around Racoon during the Cannibal Killings investigation.

She'd suspected that he wasn't dead after discovering that it had been Rebecca Chambers who had called it in. She'd seen him die in the forests while she'd been running for the Spencer Mansion, separated from her team after the crash, she'd claimed... But it only took a basic grasp of skill and strategy to realise that Rebecca, the combat novice and 18 year old Med-Tech genius on the team with only a handgun to defend herself with, would have needed serious professional help to get out alive with or without beginners luck. To cover up the mans escape, how better than to report him dead in a fashion that there was no way to confirm using his Dog Tags as proof?

Besides which, she'd read the ETC Report into the incident in Africa which had sent Coen to Leavenworth and the reality of what had happened was very different to what the Pentagon had been claiming. Coen had been the one sane man left on the Op after the disastrous intelligence failure which had left them marching on the wrong location from twenty miles away through the deep bush and desert with inadequate supplies, gear and maps. When he'd tried to stop his surviving team mates massacring the helpless villagers they'd found on finally reaching the wrong coordinates they'd been given, he'd been knocked unconscious, tied up and very nearly left for dead. Only his "friends" need for a fall guy had saved his life.

With over three-quarters of the team dead and almost fifty innocents dead, men, women and children, all shot down like dogs in the streets and even in their own homes, the brass had had a Cover Up in place before even the CIA had realised what had occurred because of American soldiers actions. A demented rampage by a starving, thirsty and blood-crazy Coen, while all of the others were too weak with hunger or too shocked to act, had left all of the civilians dead when he'd discovered the mess he and his had been landed in. A few quiet Resignations in mid-level intelligence circles and the dispersal of Coen's surviving teammates to all corners of the globe had finished the job.

The matter had only ever reached the President as a matter of severe disciplinary failure amidst all of the other Military reports he regularly received and, with no reason to even think otherwise, the President had signed off on a Cover-Up he hadn't even been aware of. That signature had sealed Coen's fate. After all, it wasn't the job of the ETC to police Politics and the Military hierarchy in Washington. They just cleaned up the mess when killing needed doing-or if it was necessary to make sure that certain things didn't happen, ever.

Her mind was drifting, a sure sign of severe blood loss. She fought against the distractions trying to pull her mind away from reality and managed to let go of the rope even as it swung over the roof again. She even managed to twist and land on the undamaged side of her body-but a shock of pain that would have dropped her in a second in good health nearly stopped her heart as her battered body collided hard with the concrete roof of the building. Everything flickered out for a second, but snapped back into focus almost instantly. She even still had enough left of her senses to register Chris falling to the ground with a dull "thud" not far away at all.

The helicopter reared up and moved away fast once they were down, pulling in the ladder even as it did. Barry and Coen ran over to get her and Chris, Barry heading for her she noticed-but Barry stopped, eyes like saucers, when he saw the state she was in. She almost snarled at him, forced her arms and legs to cooperate and managed to haul her body first into a straight line, then onto one knee through a hideous effort of will, her whole body shuddering with effort. He got the idea, ran on and picked her up as gently as he could before turning back and moving as quickly as he dared to the roof door, which he kicked open before following Coen, who was well ahead of him, down the stairs.

To his credit, he didn't even flinch at the fact that her blood was literally pouring all over his clothes and drenching the front of his body, not that she was up to having a go at him about it in any case. Her body was so numb now even her eyesight was starting to fail, black dots appearing on the edges faster and faster. She could feel her heart labouring even as the blood it was working to produce and replace spilt right out of her in amounts which would prove fatal very soon indeed, the beats of her heart clearly beginning to slow down...

That was when Barry carried her into an apartment that had to have been hit by the explosion which had destroyed by the Mall. Windows were clearly shattered and had been catapulted inside the room in razor fragments, shattered furniture tossed everywhere as though by a small hurricane backed by a bomb.

But what got her attention was the sight of the S.T.A.R.S. Medic, Rebecca Chambers, clearly crying over an immobile and pale as death itself Chris Redfield. Age notwithstanding, she knew Rebecca was far more than just competent at her craft, so the only reason she'd be crying over Chris in the state he was in was...

_No_. She felt something inside her grow cold, she felt a piece of the world she hadn't even realised she had a foothold on fall away from under her and take a big piece of her with it. _No... No... .No..._

Chris's eyes snapped open and he breathed in sharply, lurched aside away from Rebecca and threw up blood, coughing and choking in clear agony for far too long. The sense of relief that flowed through her at the sight almost knocked her out all over again, despite the sudden surge in heart rate that had briefly restored her eyesight and even some feeling in her extremities. The stupid Medic had been crying at her apparent inability to help the seriously injured Chris, _not_ because he'd seemingly dropped dead on them-!

"HELP?!" she snapped out abruptly, before being overcome with a sudden fit of trembling and coughing that made her feel as though her lungs were tearing inside her chest. Time was almost up for her.

She suddenly lost all control over her body and collapsed to the floor, her body's abrupt lack of resistance to Barry's grip dragging her dead weight out of his blood-slick hands. Everything went black for a long, long second, then jagged shards of reality spilled across her minds eye in a scattershot way which just made things worse before she realised that she wasn't breathing and had to force herself to inhale. It hurt more than she could describe, inside and out.

"..._Help_..." she managed to mutter, one last time, even as darkness closed in around her, even as she fought to keep it back with the fading remnants of her strength. She lost a fight at long last and everything fell away from her as though she was falling away into a deep, dark hole...

/End of Part 14. All reviews welcomed/.


	15. Chapter 15

Legal disclaimers: see earlier parts.

Disclaimers: see earlier parts.

**Sentences**

/July 25th, 1998, Racoon City/

**Nov 23rd 1995**

_Dear Jill,_

_How on earth am I going to explain this to you in any way that makes sense, when it doesn't even make sense to me? It's hard to know where to begin, but for you? I have to try. You deserve that, even though I am sure you will no longer believe anything I might have to say after all that you have heard from others by now._

_I might as well begin where it all started for me, back in 1993 with the "Family Killer" Case in Detroit. I'm sure you remember it, a two-month investigation through regular channels which was going nowhere, which got us involved because they wanted the Case closed without the FBI getting involved. That was what the Scorpion Squad excelled in, after all, "dealing" with the real monsters-by hiding their remains in the foundations of buildings after we killed them._

_We were a Death Squad, I don't deny it and I'll even defend it if I'm challenged, you know that better than anyone. Maybe we did cross a line, maybe. But, anyone who doesn't realise the only way to root out the real evil of this world is to rip it out with violence and cauterise the roots with gunfire has their eyes shut and their ears blocked._

_While I was on that team we saw where Evil lived and what it did for fun-and yes, the capitalisation is deliberate. You may not like to believe that the world really is black and white, little sister, but when the dark stares back at you you learn the **real** difference between good and evil. It is very simple: all that defines anyone is their actions when confronted by what they consider right-and wrong. What one does in life echoes around the world, action or inaction, live or die. I know that: I hope you never truly understand what I mean._

_You may even recall what happened to the Family Killer when he was caught in the act of killing that last child's parents while forcing him to watch, but do you recall that I was the one who found him? I ripped him to pieces with my bare hands, literally, tore out his intestines and strangled him with them, tore out his heart and smashed it against his head until his skull fractured..._

_Do you remember that? All of it?_

_That I had to be shot by a dear friend before they could tear me off of its remains? That I lost my mind just on witnessing that creature in action? That I spent a month Sedated in a High-Security Psychiatric hospital ward in restraints because I suffered a Nervous Breakdown and a Psychotic Break, to the point I was convinced everyone but my little sister was trying to kill me?_

_Do you know what happened **after** all of that? I was investigated by the FBI because they'd been after the "Family Killer" too, which led them to the Scorpion Squad and eventually the Commissioner of Police, who'd authorised us behind closed doors with no written records. The DCPD was nearly shut down because of all of this, the entire upper echelon of the Department was fired and Arrested by the FBI and, to my knowledge, none of them ever worked in law enforcement circles again at best. The whole of the Department was reorganised and a number of people went to jail or into early Retirement._

_All of this happened because of **me**, little sister. It's important to remember that so you understand what comes next. So you understand that I have been through something this before and, like it or not, will not make any of it up, nor exaggerate it._

_New Orleans, 1995, the Endigo Corporation Case. What this letter is all about._

_My men and I were just investigating allegations of financial irregularities in company headquarters-did you know they are a subsidiary of Umbrella Corporation? Me neither, until much more recently-when we discovered...something... hard to describe to you in the basement after a Security alert locked down the building and we went to see what was happening. We had to force the doors to get in, then...well..._

_It was about eight feet tall, had no skin and seemed to have several short swords for a right hand. I think that it to have been burnt or something, because it's outside seemed to be- purple? But none of that slowed it down at all._

_Three armed men and I stood no chance against it. It cut them to pieces and nearly cut me in half. I managed to put one of its eyes out, but I knew it had me cold when the pain knocked me out. Only when I came to, it was gone._

_I managed to get back into the main building, but things only got worse. The thing had been busy, everyone was dead-only, and bear with me here, this didn't mean that they were lying down still. I thought the first one I tried was in shock, but he took a chunk out of my forearm with his teeth and when I saw his eyes I knew better, so I shot him in the head._

_Remember that, Jill, it's the only permanent way to kill these things. I swear on my father's life._

_There were 200 people in that building and only one got out alive, excepting me, this is fact, no matter **what** the media say and you might be told by other elements. I only survived because I did something Suicidally stupid: I used the original creatures strength to rip open a gas main, let the gas build up and then emptied my gun into it. I was blasted right out of the building three storeys high and fell all the way to earth, how I survived I'll never know. I didn't expect to, I just wanted to kill that thing before I died._

_I woke up in hospital to catch a man trying to poison my IV line. I got out of the hospital on willpower alone after I killed him, thankfully he'd thought to leave me a car with a full tank of petrol and the keys._

_It's now a week later and I'm writing this to you hoping you'll read it and understand, but knowing you won't. I'm sure that the FBI will have read it before you, anyway-not that it matters, they already think I'm both crazy and a domestic terrorist now, not that I care._

_All of this is true, Jill, it's what happened, it really is. Even if you can't believe me, just do me one last favour?_

_Watch your back. Something terrible is coming._

_I know, because I read what I could of certain documents in the Endigo headquarters building before I got clear and it collapsed. I have no doubt anyone close to someone who knows even fragments of the truth will never be safe. I am so sorry for doing this to you, little sister, but I never wanted this and I can't protect you from it, no matter how much I wish or try otherwise._

_Farewell, little sister, Rooskaya. I hope we can speak again, even see one another again, someday._

_Love, Catherine Mattis_

_P.S. Better luck next time for the two of us, eh?_

Amber Bernstein, sitting down in the comfy chair in her apartment with Jill on the sofa, hugging herself and quietly muttering something over and over again so quietly that Amber couldn't even lip read what she was saying, didn't move for over a minute after reading the letter. After that, she read the letter again, shook her head and looked up at Jill, shaking her head.

"Jill...you've had this for _three years_ and you've never even told me that you _might_? A letter from _her_? Do you even _remember_ just how crazy that woman is?" asked Amber, turning to look Jill right in the eyes. Jill met her gaze without flinching.

"She was right, it had been opened by the FBI long before it reached me, I was lucky to get it before Christmas of that year. As for how crazy remember how crazy she is? Mind your tongue, Amber, she may be only five years older than me but she was there when I was brought into this world and I wouldn't be who I am without her, Dick Valentine for a dad or not. I know better than anyone alive, excepting maybe her mother, just how crazy she is and _isn't_. Another simple fact you seem to have forgotten is that, without her, I just would not be here. Remember _that_?" snapped Jill in return, her voice a verbal whiplash.

Amber winced, that was a part of Jill's past both she and Jill had tried hard to forget and pass on from, the effect that seeing her father going to jail had had on the then-seventeen years old Jill, her only living relative going into a black hole he'd almost certainly not live to emerge from even in later life. With her mother dead when she was a four-year-old child from a Brain Tumour, which had forced her to witness her mothers mental and physical decay until, one day, she just hadn't woken up in her hospital bed...

Jill Valentine didn't talk about that part of her past to anyone who didn't already know about it, which in this case meant Amber alone. Amber, who had been there to see her fall into such a deep, black Depression that she'd felt as though if someone had shot her it would only have improved matters and nearly taken matters into her own hands more than once. Amber, who'd helped nurse her through Counselling and kept an eye on her for the whole year she'd barely survived by biting down on Anti-Depressants every day. Amber, who knew that the bright, sharp and hard exterior that Jill presented to the world, that almost bled intelligence, ability and toughness that made her able to take on the world and win, was little more than a shield to protect the wounded woman within.

The Jill Valentine everyone thought they knew was who Jill _wanted_ to be. Who she _was_, in reality, was someone who could only really share herself with one who knew her as well as Amber did. Chris Redfield had been attracted to what she seemed to offer, but what had kept them going after the first encounter had been the fact that she'd realised he was carrying around his own wounds on the inside, where Doctors couldn't see them. Still, it didn't change the fact that Amber had been right about the two of them-the last thing Jill would have needed was to find herself and Chris using each other as emotion crutches when the truth came out, no matter how good they were together otherwise. Not that Chris would ever know that.

In fact, there was one other thing _only_ Jill and Amber knew that neither woman would ever discuss, even with each other. The fact that, ultimately, it had been the Russian blonde Catherine Mattis who had pulled Jill back from the brink, not Amber, after Jill had taken such a turn for the worse that she'd stopped reacting to the outside world altogether.

Catherine had simply appeared one day when Amber was at her wits end, locked herself in a room with Jill for a straight 24 hours, then left again without saying a word to Amber. Afterwards, Jill had actually been able to hold a conversation and started eating again, clearly feeling far better in herself, on the road to eventual recovery-and she'd refused to tell Amber what Catherine had said and done. It was the only secret Jill had ever kept from Amber-and the only time their almost lifelong friendship had ever been placed under serious threat.

"Alright, alright, that was way out of line, sorry. But... Jill, I've met her too and _I_ know that woman has ice that wouldn't melt in Hell in her veins. She's as good as the most dangerous person I've ever met who isn't a Criminal of some kind or a soldier, and we both know she's a stone killer, maybe as bad as Wesker was-" Amber said, but paused as she saw the warning flash in Jill's eyes. Bringing up that particular man, so recently after what he'd done and proved himself capable of? She changed tack quickly in her head.

"Jill, let me put this to you as simply as I can. That woman's mother grew up in a Gulag and became a Master Thief when she came to the USA, her father was a career soldier she barely knew until he was shot dead in front of her when she was eighteen years old. She made her way through street gangs as a girl and became a Sanctioned vigilante killer Cop when she joined up. Her record had as many Reprimands as it had Commendations and she only stayed on the force as long as she did because she was, hands down, the best Detective I've ever met and we both know it" said Amber, slowly, trying to avoid setting the battered Jill off again.

"BUT... she suffered at least two major Breakdowns that I know of and didn't have the most rational and normal upbringing imaginable even before that. She was a damned good Cop but she was easily one mad bitch, too. I'll go on the record as saying she was a highly trained professional killer on top of all that and, lets face it, she was in a different league to even those bastards she ran with in Detroit. This is _not_ the profile of a stable, sane individual woman, not even one with a genius-level IQ, though. It's closer to being that of a Sociopath, do you _realise this_?" Amber found herself almost shouting, at Jill's utter failure to react at all to anything she was saying.

"You don't get it, Amber...I _know_ all of that and more. I know her better than you ever will and, simple fact, if she told me I could survive going over Niagara Falls stark naked head-first I'd strip off and dive in. Is that simple enough for you?" asked Jill, her tone actually making Ambers hackles rise. Jill rarely talked to her using that tone of voice for a reason, an almost sneering shift in her manner suggesting that she knew better than Amber and that was the end of it. Sometimes she did, but not always-and Amber did _not_ appreciate feeling like a little girl being instructed from on high.

"Amber, I've told you some of what happened in the Spencer Mansion... But your just too hung up on the fact Catherine is damaged goods to see past your opinions. You don't understand what that letter really says. She knew about Zombies _three years_ before we even knew they existed...and I'll bet my life the creature she couldn't properly describe was an early Tyrant Prototype. She got _everything_ which happened that day dumped on her as the only official survivor and could only get out alive by going on the run then deep into hiding" said Jill, slowly but surely turning her back on Amber as she spoke.

"She sent me that letter, she's called me twice since-and I've put the phone down on her both times, told her not to call back, because I allowed myself to believe her capable of monstrosity. I've had the letter hidden in a drawer since '95 because I was scared she'd finally cracked and it was the proof-but she hadn't, _hasn't_. I should have believed in her, what she told me, no matter _what_-_and I didn't_. I can't even imagine what she's been through, what she's had to do to survive, all by herself because I wouldn't trust her. If she forgives me that, assuming I ever see or hear from her again, I don't deserve it. Do you understand _that_?!" snapped Jill, her voice razor sharp and cool as Arctic wind.

Amber didn't even flinch, or say anything, she couldn't. She knew that this was just Jill venting, but it hurt where she wouldn't let it show. She'd thought, for years now, that Jill had finally left that madwoman in the past. Let go of part of the old nightmare her father had represented. Only now...

"I can only hope its not too late..." Jill finally finished, muttering the last words almost to herself. Amber heard it all, though.

She stood up, walked over to Jill and placed a consoling hand on her shoulder. She squeezed gently, letting Jill know she wasn't alone in this.

"Jill...after what happened, you couldn't have known. How could _anyone_-" she began. She never got the chance to finish, though.

Jill suddenly leapt to her feet and shoved Amber backwards so hard that Amber actually stumbled and fell, an expression of utter shock on her face. The expression on Jill's face kept her mouth shut, though.

"_She_ would have trusted _me_!" Jill snarled, her voice almost a growl of anger. Then she turned, grabbed her jacket and stormed out of Amber's apartment, slamming the door far too hard behind her with an almighty bang.

She left Amber too stunned to speak for some time afterwards...

/End of Part 15. All reviews welcomed/.


	16. Chapter 16

Legal disclaimers: see earlier parts.

Disclaimers: see earlier parts. But, to those of you who've finished the story? Hope you enjoyed it and keep an eye open. I have other stories connected to the RE world to come yet.

**Sentences**

/August 1st, 1998, Racoon City/

She woke up suddenly, but her body wasn't so interested in reacting to the fact as her mind was. Her eyelids felt like they were being drawn shut by an exhaustion she had no memory of, but she'd never given in to anything in her life and she wasn't going to start with her own bodies frailties after the amount of work she put into keeping herself in shape. It took long moments of harsh focus, but her eyes opened on dim, blurred lights, shapes she couldn't identify and colours that seemed to be simply floating around the room. _That_ wasn't good, she had to have suffered a massive blow to the head to have her vision so distorted. Or...she could have suffered a massive injury to her body somehow?

Even as she realised that she should know the answer as to what had happened to her, more of her senses woke up. She was lying on a rough carpet over wooden boards, twisted in a way which said she had landed there rather than been thrown. Her skin was cool and yet sweaty, as though she'd suffered some kind of terrible shock. Her mouth was dry as a desert, she couldn't quite make out the jumble of sounds rolling around the room about her, she could smell the thick, coppery stink of fresh blood all around and about...her...

_That_ brought her memory back with a start which would have made her bolt to her feet if she had been at all capable of movement involving her entire body. Since her lacerated flank still suffered both exposed bone and torn muscles that were unable to respond to her minds commands, though, just the attempt threatened to beat her back down into unconsciousness again. Every muscle in her body tightened to the point that she nearly screamed aloud as the pain and awful shock of pure agony tried to take a bite out of her sanity, but she bit so deeply into her lower lip holding it all in that the blood starting dripping down her throat, reminding her that it _was_ just physical pain-and she could deal with that.

Adrenaline flooded her system in response to sudden surge of pain and heart rate, but it didn't wash away enough of the pain to stop her right hand from involuntarily banging into the floor hard and fast, several times, her whole body jerking as her self-control slipped entirely. The surge of adrenaline _did_ provide her body with enough of a boost that, again, she could finally perceive the world around her properly.

The first thing she noticed, apart from a distressed-looking extremely battered Chris standing over her looking like he was about to faint from pain, his chest and left middle finger carefully wrapped in bandages, was the fact that Barry Burton was crouched on the floor beside her. More to the point, an IV line running with what could only be blood was running from his elbow to her elbow, with a nervous-looking Rebecca Chambers clearly nursing the whole process along while kneeling practically atop Serena herself...

"_What_...are you doing? To even..._try_...that, in the state...I'm in..." Serena managed, her throat hurting, almost burning, as she spoke. She didn't let her stop her, she knew she was right. She'd lost far too much blood from far too massive a wound for any transfusion to ultimately be successful, at best it would slow down the inevitable. At worst, the kind of blood loss Barry could suffer just trying to keep her alive could put him into a Coma or even kill him.

She was hardly on anything like his physical scale, but her body was all muscle and bone and it was a simple fact that she was at her physical peak. Her body worked so hard and fast when she went to work that she had to watch her food and drink intake with almost religious intensity just to maintain her health, carry out regular physical development routines that required the use of the human body in ways Doctors described as impossible and have regular check-ups with her personal Doctor at the ETC for more reasons than she wanted to casually consider. She knew exactly how her body worked, what it could and couldn't do, what the very extremes of her physical and mental abilities were.

She also knew when she'd passed every one of her physical limits. If Chris Redfield hadn't been present with her inside the Mall she'd be dead, a fact. But, she had a hole in her side her guts were almost literally falling out of and, at the very least, she'd lost over half the blood in her body just since she'd been shot. If she was going to die, nobody who didn't have to was going down with her. Unfortunately, she was still too weak to do anything about it physically-and it was obvious nobody was going to listen to her verbal protests.

"What were doing is saving your life, argue and I'll have Serena bitch-slap you so hard your ears will still be ringing when you come around again. Before you ask, Barry's AB+, small miracle, so he can safely do this-or so Chris tells me. As for what happened to you, I've done what I can and we'll just have to hope it's enough until we can get you to a real Hospital somewhere safe" replied Rebecca, shooting a sharp glance at Serena.

Serena, for a long moment, wasn't sure whether to slap the young woman so hard she was left with a scar in later life or thank her, but decided to do neither on the basis she suspected Rebecca was too young and naïve to know better. Instead, she looked down at the hole in her side to see what the young Medic had been up to.

The gaping wound in her side was sealed by enough antiseptic dressings, layered one next to another around and over the entire wound, that even the swelling on the very edges of the jagged wound she knew would be there. All of the dressings were bound on tight by massively overlaid bandages, wound around and around her entire waist and tied off in such a way they would have to be cut off of her before they'd come loose. She could identify the dressings with a practised eye, visible between the layers of bandages, but one thing struck her even as she took it all in: she was certain that the area covered was larger than the original gunshot wound would account for.

Perfect, that meant she really had nearly torn herself in half by wrenching her body around even after she'd been shot, whether or not she'd had no choice. Her legs were simply going to fall off if she kept this up, on top of which it was going to take major Surgery to put this right.

"Billy, is Jill awake yet?" called out Rebecca suddenly, causing Serena to look around and see the former soldier standing next to the apartments battered bed, which had clearly been cleaned up since an unconscious Jill Valentine was lying still atop it.

"Hell, no. When you put a body down you really mean it, don't you, Becca?" replied Billy Coen, a twinkle in his eye that Serena knew Rebecca wouldn't miss. The slight blush the young woman tried to conceal made clear she hadn't.

"Fine...don't listen to...me. How's Chris?" asked Serena, running through her options and not coming up with many. She had to get out of here, away from these people, but there were only two ways to do that for certain. Which one did she choose?

"Punctured lung which I've managed to fix, internal bruising on kidney and stomach, seven cracked ribs and three broken ones, broken left middle finger from punching something solid far too hard. Hairline fracture in his right cheek, a bruised jaw, broken nose, mild Concussion which means he doesn't sleep until I'm sure he's safe. He's on his feet because he's refused to sit down until he sees with his own eyes your alright" said Rebecca, running through Chris's injuries as though she was reading from a shopping list.

"As for _you_...lady, your just _scary_. Recently dislocated shoulder which reacts as though it was a mild strain to pressure tests. Slight bruising to various parts of your body, minor lacerations. Massive gunshot wound trauma to lower right chest which breached the chest cavity, shrapnel damage to intestines, torn muscles in trauma area which should make physical activity physically impossible,_ severe_ loss of blood...yet you show none of the symptoms of shock and clearly only passed out because your heart rate dropped to the point you fainted from loss of blood" said Rebecca, shaking her head slowly.

"You know, I may only be a freshman in the field, but I am a genius and I've read _all_ of the textbooks. Chris should be unconscious and dosed up on pain meds just to be stable, at the very least, but the drive he gets from knowing what he's really up against keeps him on his feet. _You_, though...lady, every single thing I know says you should be _dead_. Amber and Chris have filled us in on what you've been up to since all of this started, added to _this_... I think I just might be scared of you" said Rebecca, slowly, never taking her eyes off of the IV even as she spoke.

"Thanks...I think, I guess that means I'm tough. Can I borrow a knife, though? Or a Scalpel? I'm easy either way" replied Serena, wondering what reply she'd get. It wasn't as though anyone here but Chris knew her, after all.

Rebecca took a Scalpel out of a medical bag by her feet and handed it to her without hesitation, not even blinking. Serena guessed that this meant she'd won their trust, at least to a degree, some small favour. She wondered what they'd say to what she was doing next...

She gritted her teeth, reached down and, after cutting through her left trouser leg, drove the Scalpel into her leg near the bone, carefully avoiding the muscles and tendons. Wincing, she opened the wound and used the blades tip to draw out the small capsule concealed there, which she caught between two fingertips before pressing the wound shut with the flap she'd cut through her trouser leg, a rudimentary pressure bandage but all she needed for what was really a nick. Even as she did that, without bothering to clean the blood off she tossed it into her mouth and swallowed. Rebecca just sighed, even as she took her Scalpel back and wiped it clean on an already-stained cloth.

"Do I even want to know what you just did and why?" she asked, clearly not expecting an answer. Well, she understood a little at least, Serena decided. Maybe a surprise would help?

"A Trace package designed to be activated as a last resort by Agents so badly injured on the job that they cannot possibly Extract themselves from the Hot Zone. SOP is to find a secure location and ingest it. The stomach acid dissolves the packaging in thirty seconds, the body temperature activates a Beacon switch a minute later. Activate it in the USA and you can be guaranteed a response in ten minutes, which gives us now six hundred and ninety seconds, or eleven minutes thirty seconds and counting, before a Hawk Team arrives at my location. Meaning I need to be outside this building and all of you need to be out of sight thirty seconds _before_ they get here" said Serena, getting her hands beneath her only to find out she still had almost no leverage with the muscles in her side so damaged. She cursed, but her damaged body simply couldn't work around her injuries.

"Huh...seriously?" asked Billy Coen, raising an eyebrow. It would be the ex Special Forces soldier who asked the question, she couldn't help but think.

"Just because, you know, as a long-time gunman I've been on a couple of Black Ops myself, even done Wetwork, but I've only ever seen one person pull that particular trick before... He hid it under between his ribs under his arm, though" Coen continued, his grip on his weapon tightening visibly. Was he actually stupid enough to think because he'd seen something he shouldn't have he knew something about her? If she'd been healthy enough she'd have killed him just for that admission. As it was, she'd have to report it. What happened after that was none of her concern.

"_**Leave it, Billy**_!" snapped two sharp, raised voices at the same time-Amber and Rebecca together, Serena was actually startled to learn. It appeared what had happened to her boyfriend had shaken Amber up more than she was willing to admit if she was standing up to a man like Billy Coen. On top of which, it seemed that Rebecca's experiences had done her no end of good personally if she was willing and able to stand up to someone who'd obviously gotten under her skin like Coen had. Not least because there was no question of Billy being the dominant figure in _that_ relationship.

"She's one of ours, Billy, _whatever_ else she does. She's proved herself and you know it. Just ask Chris" snapped Rebecca, pointedly.

"Or ask _me_, if you think you can't handle the truth from the walking wounded!" snapped Amber, looking as angry as Serena had seen her. Saving her life evidently did wonders for your credibility with Amber, Serena couldn't help but think.

"Whoa! Whoa! Hey! I was just saying that I've seen too much to take things like this on trust! I'd say we _all_ have!" said Coen hurriedly, raising his arms in almost a surrendering gesture. Serena thought the man had a point, but then he hadn't been put through everything the surviving S.T.A.R.S. had been since they'd gotten back to the city. They were willing to grasp at almost any chance of help and support, no matter how slender or dangerous. Given what she'd already done for them, though, she could see how she could appeal to them-on top of which, there was her history with Chris to consider.

"Or ask _me_. A man I've known for almost half my life died in my arms, in pain, tonight, because of yet another creation of Umbrellas. Without her, Chris and Amber would be dead, maybe all of us. Or did you think the Mall was a set-up just for Chris originally?!" snarled Barry Burton, his deep voice almost echoing around the room.

Coen, wisely, didn't say anything to that. There was nothing he _could_ say.

"On that note, I really should be going. You _will_ see me again, but not for a while, before you ask" said Serena, managing to get her upper back off of the floor with considerable effort. Amber walked over to her and knelt down to help her up, even as Rebecca extracted the IV line from her arm, having tied off Barry's end first.

"Are you sure about this? You're risking your life just by trying to stand up right now, you know?" asked Rebecca, quietly. Serena just smiled, sadly.

"One day I'll tell you what it is I really do, then that question will have a whole different meaning. Thank you for everything, Rebecca, take care of Chris while I can't, will you?" she answered, quietly. Rebecca just rolled her eyes at that.

"I would say he's got Jill, but if he's stupid enough to let a woman like you go in the first place I'm not even sure he's got a mind of his own. I'll watch his back, though, don't worry about that" muttered Rebecca in reply, even as she helped Amber stand Serena up by bracing herself under Serena's left arm while Amber went for Serena's right side. Since she couldn't even put weight on her wounded side and felt light-headed just from being stood up, Serena was sure it was a good idea to have help, as much as it irritated her to have to rely on anyone to do something she should have been able to do herself.

When they got her downstairs, she did them a favour they would never understand the significance of and made them memorise a very particular telephone number that would make sure they never suffered any complications with the authorities in the USA. Then, once they left her to sit quietly on the steps of the building all alone, she leant back to enjoy even the awful weather they were suffering from with a smile on her face.

When the car arrived later, exact to the second, she almost felt as though she'd miss the company she'd left upstairs. Maybe that was one promise she _would_ keep?

/End of Part 16. All reviews welcomed/.

**THE END?**


End file.
